


Not in That Way

by harrietelizabeth



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Best Friends, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 11:46:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4745165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harrietelizabeth/pseuds/harrietelizabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just another fic where Liam is in love with his best friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not in That Way

**Author's Note:**

> This has taken me forever to write so it should probably be a bit better than what it is, but what can ya do. I know there are 10,000 versions of best friends to lovers fic, but I really wanted to write one, so here you go! 
> 
> Thanks for reading, please comment/leave kudos/check out my other works if you enjoy it (:
> 
> tumblr: [heauxrystyles](%E2%80%9Dheauxrystyles.tumblr.com%E2%80%9D)

“Liam.”

The voice cuts through Liam’s dream of warm skin, blinding smiles and a sweet smell like brown sugar. He rolls his head to the side, opening one eye, and sees the back of Zayn’s neck on the pillow next to him, the tip of his fantail tattoo just visible above the neckline of the worn white tee shirt he always wears to bed. Liam lifts his head up a fraction to see Louis standing in his doorway, a steaming cup of tea in his hand.

“We’re gonna be late,” Louis says, not bothering to keep his voice down. They both know Zayn could sleep through the zombie apocalypse. 

“I’m up,” Liam says, sitting up in bed and allowing himself a moment to look down at Zayn while he sleeps, his eyelashes ten thousand miles long across his cheek. Then Liam carefully climbs over Zayn, pulls the covers back up over his shoulder, and looks around his room for some clean clothes. Instinctively, he picks up Zayn’s jeans and hoodie he’d worn round to Liam’s the night before and folds them on top of his dresser. He thinks about leaving a note, but then remembers he doesn’t really have anything to say. 

He’s going to be late, he thinks, so he quickly grabs his phone and wallet, and shuts his bedroom door quietly behind him, leaving his best friend pressed into the mattress, blissfully unaware.

He and Louis make it to work in the nick of time, pulling up in Louis’ beat up old Morris Minor just before their boss, Paul, arrives and gets on their asses about time management and tardiness. They slip quickly into their adjacent cubicles and exchange a small fist bump as Paul barges in, shouting good morning to everyone in his usual way that tells Liam he’s probably on his third cup of coffee. Liam doesn’t blame him; filing other people’s tax returns for eight hours a day requires unusually high levels of caffeine. Harry’s always nagging Liam about it, telling him green tea is much better for his digestive system and will give him even more energy than coffee, but Liam much prefers his strong, black brew from the office percolator to Harry’s bitter, grassy-tasting water. He goes over to the little office kitchen, switching on the jug and getting out two mugs; Louis will need another cup of tea soon, no doubt, or he’ll start throwing things over the top of his and Liam’s cubicle divider. Liam would usually have had a coffee at home before work, but he and Zayn had stayed up late the night before watching old episodes of The Sopranos, and as usual it had taken Liam an hour to get to sleep after Zayn dozed off, lying there listening to Zayn’s even breath and thinking of all the words he wanted to say but never would. So he’d overslept, hadn’t had time for his morning cuppa, or to make a brew for Zayn to wake up to. He thinks about sending a text to apologise, but then reminds himself that’s not how this works.

He and Zayn are friends, that’s all. Best friends, who share clothes and a bed and the same love for old gangster movies and the latest Marvel instalments. Not the kind of friends who apologise for not making a morning coffee. 

Liam realises he’s been pouring the coffee so long it’s spilled over the edges of his mug and burned his hand. He doesn’t feel it, but it’s not exactly the ideal moment for Louis to walk into the staffroom.

“Bit distracted this morning, Liam?” he says smugly. Which, really, he’s got no right to sound so self-entitled, seeing as he has to stand on tiptoes to get himself a mug and teabag from the cupboard. “Late night?”

“Just didn’t get much sleep,” Liam says, wiping up the spilled coffee, because Louis knows the deal with him and Zayn. More importantly, he knows not to ask about it.

“Ugh, tell me about it. Me and Haz were up half the night, he bought this new type of lube which –“

“Louis,” Liam says, looking over his shoulder instinctively in case one of their colleagues has come into the staffroom and is about to be subjected to a blow by blow account of one of Louis and Harry’s sexual experiments. “Not right now, mate.”

“Aww, sorry Li, forgot sex is a sensitive subject, since you’re not getting any. Just, you know, sharing your bed with a bloke you’re in love with every night, because that’s what friends do, right?”

“I’m not in love with him,” Liam says through gritted teeth, and brushes past Louis to go back into the office.

“Course not. My mistake,” Louis mutters, scuttling after him. And what would Louis know, Liam thinks. It’s not like he’s in a stable, long-term relationship with his soul mate, having incredibly satisfying sex and planning the rest of his life with someone who makes him incredibly happy. Except, he totally is.

And Liam is totally in love with his best friend.

It was an accident, he thinks. It wasn’t meant to come to this. It was just, somewhere between kicking a football around with Zayn on Saturday mornings and wrestling on Liam’s living room floor, and staying up all night talking and spending rainy Saturdays in Ikea picking out their dream bedrooms, Liam went from loving Zayn to being in love with him. Liam clings to that difference like it’s the ballroom door of the Titanic; Zayn loves him, Liam knows that, but he’s not in love with him. It’s in the way he’s always quick to tell people they’re not together, when one of Harry or Niall’s friends meets them for the first time and assumes they’re a couple. The way Liam’s always the first one he introduces a new boyfriend or girlfriend to, so Liam’s reminded, painfully, that he’ll never fill that gap for Zayn. And it used to be the same for Liam; he dated guys, introduced them to Zayn, hoping they’d be the one to prove to Liam that Zayn was just a stupid, confusing crush. But it’s as if one day Liam woke up and decided being Zayn’s best friend wasn’t enough. It’s like a constant hunger, always wanting more and never feeling satisfied, because the person he wants most in the world doesn’t want him back. And it’s stupid, Liam knows that, and it’s the reason he can never tell Zayn. But on mornings like this one, when Liam wakes up next to Zayn and all his thousands of memories fall into place within that first second of waking, he’s reminded that Zayn doesn’t belong to him. And it never gets any easier.

Zayn picks him up after work because Louis’ going straight to dinner with Harry, and because they’d be hanging out anyway. It’s an unspoken agreement, like most of their friendship – even though Zayn lives with Harry and Liam lives with Louis and Niall, they spend almost every night together, it doesn’t matter at whose house. They sing to the radio at the top of their lungs as Zayn drives to his and Harry’s flat, since it’s empty, and together they cook a lamb curry that Zayn learned from his mum. And even though Liam doesn’t live here, he knows where they keep the measuring cups, knows where the coriander grows in their tiny backyard, knows which chipped plate is Zayn’s favourite. It feels like home, with the heat from their cooking fogging up the kitchen window and Zayn’s tawny eyes across the table from Liam. 

After dinner, when Liam’s lying awake in Zayn’s bed, he listens to the sound of Zayn’s breath, and thinks it might be his favourite sound in the world.

//

Liam is having the worst day of his life, including the day he’d thought their school was having a mufti day when they weren’t, and he’d showed up in jeans and a batman tee shirt. Louis’ piece of shit car had broken down on the way to work, and so they’d both copped an earful from Paul when they arrived late. Not to mention the coffee machine’s broken, and Liam’s temporarily misplaced the file of one of their most important clients. Lost, he’s lost the file, for fuck’s sake, and there’s not even an electronic backup, because that had been Liam’s job, to upload the file to their database. In short, he’s fucked.

He’s doubly fucked, because he doesn’t even care as much about the damn file as he does about the fact that Zayn hadn’t stayed over last night (“Just once, Liam, I want to sleep in my own bed”). And Liam isn’t emotionally stable enough right now to analyse why he would care more about sleeping without his best friend than potentially losing his job.

Louis, however, seems perfectly emotionally stable, and is taking great pleasure in analysing why that might be for Liam’s benefit. While Liam tears his hair out opening every single drawer in their office and turning over every sheet of paper in the hopes of seeing the name ‘McKenzie’ on the front, Louis trots around after him, smirking into his cup of tea (because of course you don’t need a damn machine to make tea, do you?)

“He’ll call, Liam.”

“Stop it.”

“He’s probably too sexually frustrated to keep sharing a bed with you. I mean, there’s only so many morning boners you can hide from a mate, right Liam?”

“Louis.”

“You know, you never used to be like this when I refused to sleep in your bed. In fact, I distinctly remember you telling me to get out of your bed when I tried to stay. Why the change of heart? What’s Zayn got that I haven’t? It’s his hair, isn’t it. I can never quite get mine to do the quiff thing like he can.”

“Can you shut the fuck up for one second of your life and help me look for this damn file?”

Louis places a hand over his heart, mock-hurt.

“I’m just trying to help you, just trying to bring a little solace to a desperate man, Liam. And this is how you repay me. I’m hurt, honestly.”

“Louis,” Liam hisses, pretending to be using the photocopier as Paul thunders past, on the rampage while he waits for the mechanic to come in and fix the coffee machine. The lack of coffee in Paul’s bloodstream is part of the reason Liam hasn’t told him about the missing McKenzie file yet. The other part is the fact that Liam kind of likes having all his limbs attached to his body.

“Ok, ok. Have you looked through the incomplete files?”

“Of course I have. I’m not an idiot!”

“Well, that’s yet to be categorically proven. What about in the corporate instead of personal boxes?”

“Three times,” Liam says through gritted teeth, opening the paper tray of the photocopier in an almost hysterical frenzy.

“Have you looked under ‘K’ instead of ‘M’, in case some…poor, confused soul thought the Mc wasn’t part of the filing?”

Liam stares at Louis, his mind racing. No, he’d only looked under M. He takes off towards the filing cabinet where the personal tax files are kept, and wrenches open the drawer labelled “A-L”. Fingers shaking, he thumbs through the K files until finally, he spots it. McKenzie. Liam thinks he might punch the next person he meets who happens to share that unfortunate name.

As discretely as possible, Liam goes back to his desk, flashing the folder at Louis as he sits down and giving him a thumbs up. Paul loudly greets the mechanic and half drags him to the staffroom. The poor guy had better work fast, thinks Liam.

And so had he. He only has an hour to get all of the McKenzie information uploaded to the database, so he flexes his fingers, flipping the folder open, and opens a new document for the family’s file. He’s got as far as entering their names when a thought strikes him. He leans to his right, around the partition that separates his desk from Louis’. Louis has his feet up on the desk, his trousers rolled up and exposing mismatched socks. He’s doing something on his phone, his computer’s screen saver telling Liam it’s been idle for at least five minutes.

“What made you think the file would be under ‘K’ in stead of ‘M’?” Liam asks, trying to make his voice sound innocent. But Louis immediately looks shifty, so Liam knows he’s onto something.

“Dunno. Just occurred to me.”

“Louis,” Liam says warningly as Louis daintily takes his legs off the desk, hearing Paul’s footsteps thundering through the office.

“Honestly Liam, I don’t know what you’re implying but –“

“Honestly Louis, did you put that file under ‘K’ instead of ‘M’?” Louis’s gaze slides sideways, and Liam knows he’s got him. He doesn’t need to hear the answer, just makes an angry sound in the back of his throat and slides his chair back behind his partition, completely blocking Louis from his view.

He types furiously for the rest of the day, cursing his friend for making him go through so much hassle to find a file that it would’ve taken him two minutes to find, had it been in the right place. But now, Liam’s behind on the rest of his work so he’s going to have to catch up tomorrow, and he was meant to be leaving early because it’s Friday and Zayn wanted to – 

Zayn.

Liam realises the box where the McKenzie’s income is meant to be recorded reads “alsdjfsljsfjdd fjds”, and he backspaces quickly. He’s meant to be leaving early tomorrow because Zayn wants to see the new Avengers movie premiere, and he’s bought them tickets for the 4pm session. And Liam can’t miss it, wouldn’t miss it for the world, but he’s got so much to do he feels like the stack of files on his desk waiting to be entered into the database is going to cause an avalanche and bury him under their weight.

Maybe it’s for the best that they do, he thinks. 

Liam’s gloomy thoughts of suffocating under a tonne of tax rebates are interrupted by his phone ringing on his desk, buzzing loudly against the cheap plywood. He looks at the screen, realises it’s Zayn, and only hesitates for a second before answering.

“Hey,” he says shortly, quickly flipping through the McKenzie file to see how much he has left to go. Only a couple of pages, he should be able to –

“Li, you okay?” Zayn says, sounding concerned. God, that’s just what Liam needs right now, for Zayn to be all worried and nice. Can’t he just be an asshole for once? He could take some tips from Louis.

“Yeah, I’m just – I’ve had a shit day, to be honest. I can’t really talk, I’ve gotta finish uploading this file Louis hid from me.” Liam raises his voice on the last words so Louis can hear him. 

“Ok. I’ll see you tonight yeah?”

“Ok. Ok, yeah,“ Liam says, letting the certainty of Zayn relax him. Even though his feelings towards Zayn make Liam want to run into traffic on a daily basis, he can’t help but draw comfort from the fact that Zayn’s steady, he’ll always be there when Liam needs him. That’s why Liam doesn’t want to ruin what they’ve got with some stupid declaration of love; it would only drive Zayn away, and destroy everything they’ve got together.

“Just breathe, ok? You’ve got this. I’ll see you soon, Li.” And just like that, he hangs up. It’s kind of what they do; they never need to say goodbye because usually they’re going to see each other in a couple of hours anyway. Or, in this case, about forty minutes, Liam thinks as he looks at the time on his computer screen. He can type 50 words a minute; he can make it. Probably.

//

Liam arrives home soaking wet from rain, ready to collapse into a warm bed and not think about the world for at least ten hours. 

But of course Zayn’s here, and of course he looks breathtaking in one of Liam’s hoodies, dark jeans and his hair soft and unstyled. Zayn gets Thursdays off, so he usually doesn’t bother with all the product and crap he puts in his hair the rest of the time. Needless to say, Liam lives for Thursdays. 

Zayn gets off the couch when he sees Liam come in, but Liam stops him from coming too close by holding out an arm while he peels off his dripping coat and scarf.

“Thought you could do with this,” Zayn says, going into the kitchen and coming back with two glasses of wine. Liam feels his affection come crashing over him like waves, and he struggles to come up for breath between them. It’s just, Zayn overwhelms him sometimes, the way he knows what Liam needs without Liam needing to say anything. Without Liam even knowing himself what he needs. On the way home, all he’d been able to think about was pulling the covers up over his head and blocking the world out, but now he realises what he needs is right here, his best friend curled up on the couch next to him, a bottle of red wine dwindling away on the coffee table, the two of them yelling at cooking shows on TV until their voices are hoarse. 

//

Sometimes, when Liam wakes up next to Zayn, he lets himself have a moment to pretend they’re together. He imagines kissing Zayn’s shoulder, running a hand down his arm, or brushing over his cheek. He imagines Zayn waking up slowly, a soft smile spreading across his face as he opens his eyes and rolls towards Liam. He imagines their lips touching, his skin burning up as he lies next to Zayn and doesn’t let himself near him. It’s always just a moment, nothing more, and then he files it away in his mind under ‘Z’, and shakes his best friend awake so they can get ready for work.

There are days when Zayn looks at Liam like he’s a life raft on the rolling ocean, and Liam can’t stop his heart from beating out of his chest. Because as much as Liam spends 99% of his time convincing himself that everything he feels for Zayn is just confusion, him projecting his emotions onto the closest person at hand, sometimes Zayn makes that really, really hard to believe. When he smiles at Liam the way he never smiles at Harry, or Niall, or Louis. The touches that are just for Liam, a light brush on Liam’s elbow while he stirs a Bolognese sauce; his fingers pulling through Liam’s hair just when he was starting to think about getting it cut, and he immediately changes his mind. When they take pointless drives in Zayn’s car in November and Liam doesn’t even notice that the heater doesn’t work, when Zayn calls him in the middle of the day just to give his best (worst) Godfather impression and then hangs up before Liam can say anything. On days like these, Liam looks at his life and wonders why he bothers convincing himself he’s not in love with his best friend, because he thinks nothing will ever feel as good as stretching his fingertips out across the sheets in the dark and feeling Zayn there, his body warm and heavy and real. 

//

Liam reaches out and snatches a family size tub of guacamole from Louis’s hands and puts it back on the shelf – they’re trying to do flat grocery shopping, and Liam had thought he’d insured himself against a trolley of unnecessary purchases by not bringing Niall. Apparently he was mistaken.

“The list, Louis,” Liam says, watching a woman with a toddler in the trolley seat negotiate with him over flavoured milk, and thinks he’s never felt more affinity with a middle-aged woman in his life.

“The list is boring,” Louis moans, and Liam shares a momentary look of understanding with the toddler’s mother before pushing their trolley further down the aisle towards things they actually need, like cheese and milk. 

“If you want to buy your own groceries, use your own money, not our flat account,” Liam says patiently, comparing the specials on 2%. He doesn’t think about the fact that Zayn prefers full cream on his cereal.

“Speaking of the flat account….” Louis says, suddenly very interested in the dairy aisle’s Camembert display. 

“If you’re asking to borrow money from the flat again you can’t, our power bill is due this week,” Liam says flatly, putting one bottle of 2% and one bottle of full cream into their trolley. Louis seems too distracted to quiz him on it, anyway.

“It’s not about money,” Louis says quickly as Liam pushes the trolley forward, and there’s an excited tremor in his voice. “I’ve been talking to Harry, and…he wants us to move in together.” 

Liam immediately beams at him; it’s about time those two got their own space instead of keeping Liam and Niall, or Zayn, when they’re at Harry’s, awake all night with their highly-experimental love-making.

“Lou, that’s so great, I’m really happy for you!” Louis smiles at him in his open, crinkly way, and Liam pulls him in to his side, making them veer and narrowly miss a display of Doritos.

“I mean, it’s not as big a step as it sounds. I’d just be…moving into his apartment.” Liam nods; it makes sense. Louis works an entry-level job at an accounting firm, Harry waits tables at a café down the road and sometimes sells his art online. Neither of them can really afford to buy a place of their own. “It would kind of just be….like a swap,” Louis continues, and Liam frowns slightly.

“What do you mean?” he asks, and feels Louis pull away from him gently. He stops in Liam’s path, between the frozen vegetables and ice cream.

“Zayn and I. We…we thought we’d just swap. I move into his room at Harry’s, he moves into my room at yours. It’s a win win, really.” 

Liam stares into frozen space, at the bright colours behind glass and the light puffs of steam that escape when shoppers open the fridge doors. A win win for who, he thinks.

“Zayn’s moving in with me?” Liam asks. It’s not like he hasn’t pictured this scenario happening, hundreds of times, hundreds of different ways, but it was never in the frozen aisle at the grocery store, with Louis in his slippers delivering the news for him.

“Well, you and Niall. But yeah, he agreed to it. Only if you’re ok with it, of course. Which, Liam –“

“It’s fine, Lou,” Liam says, brushing past him and reaching for a tub of salted caramel ice cream. He’s going to need that later. 

“I mean, you and Zayn practically live together anyway, it just means you don’t have to travel as far to see each other. And it means I don’t have to hunt down a new tenant, and you and Niall don’t have to live with some random stranger. And if you’re worried about…that, don’t be. It’ll just be like having me there, he’s just a flatmate. Liam,” Louis continues, hurrying after Liam who’s striding down the aisle, trying to make his legs keep up with the processing speed of his brain.

Of course what Louis’ saying makes sense. He and Zayn spend every night at each other’s houses, so why wouldn’t them living together just make things easier? It’s a rational, logical decision, Liam thinks. Emotions have nothing to do with it.

So why does it feel like so much more? Why does it feel like Zayn’s telling him something with this decision, like Louis and Harry and the entire universe are trying to tell Liam something? Whatever it is, Liam’s not sure he can quite make it out. 

//

Once he’s demolished the tub of ice cream in his room, his phone stuffed under his pillow so he doesn’t have to think about calling the only person he wants to talk to in the entire world, Liam gives in. He puts on his Nikes, and a hoodie, because it might be April but the chill’s still not entirely disappeared from the night air. He stuffs his phone into his pocket and jams his earbuds into his ears, putting his music on shuffle because he has no idea what to listen to right now, just knows he needs to drown his thoughts out.

Liam practically runs to Zayn’s. Which is good, he thinks, because he can pretend that he was just out for a run and happened to be in Zayn’s neighbourhood. Which soon won’t be his neighbourhood, Liam reminds himself as he knocks on the door. Also, that ice cream can’t have been good for him. 

Harry answers the door, his hair tied back in a bun and a paint-spattered apron over his clothes. His face cracks into a dimpled grin when he sees Liam, and he stands aside for Liam to come in.

“Congrats Hazza,” Liam says to him quietly, because as much as Louis and Harry’s decision to move in together has thrown things into turmoil for him, he’s still happy for the two of them. Harry’s dimples deepen, and he nods his head in the direction of Zayn’s room, where Liam can hear Drake blasting at full volume. Harry squeezes his shoulder, and Liam tries to convey his gratitude in a smile. He has no idea why, but he walks up to Zayn’s door and knocks.

He and Zayn have been barging into each other’s rooms unannounced almost since they met in college. It’s resulted in a few awkward situations – one where Liam was naked, one where Zayn was with a girl and one, which Liam has successfully repressed to the point where he can hardly remember it, where Liam was masturbating. Over Zayn, but he doesn’t know that. The point is, Liam would never usually knock on Zayn’s door. But he feels like he should now, because Liam’s not sure where he stands with Zayn anymore – the worn carpet beneath him feels like shifting sand, like the beginnings of an avalanche that’s going to bury everything he knew about him and Zayn. The music dims suddenly, and then Zayn’s standing in front of him, shirtless with his trackie bottoms slung low across his boyish hips. Liam wants to push him backwards into his bedroom, kiss him until he can’t breathe, but he can’t, can’t think about that, so he takes a small step back.

“Hey,” Zayn says, a smile spreading across his face, and just like that, Liam remembers that whatever is going to change between them after this, nothing will erase the fact that Zayn’s smile looks like the sun coming out after rain.

“Hey,” Liam says. He’s about to tell Zayn the lie about being out for a run, and then the words “I talked to Louis today,” come out of his mouth before he can stop them. Zayn’s face shifts almost imperceptibly, a small scurry of cloud across the face of the sun, and then he’s grinning again.

“Oh yeah? He tell you about our plan?” Liam follows Zayn into his room, taking up his usual place on the end of his bed while Zayn leans back against the pillows.

“Yeah. I guess I just wanted to ask – are you sure about it?” Zayn looks at him, and Liam thinks he can read a million things in that one look, and at the same time he can’t read a single one.

“Course. Why wouldn’t I be? I mean we practically spend –“

“Every night together, I know. I just – don’t want you to do something you don’t want to just because you think it’s the right thing.”

“Liam,” Zayn says, crawling down the bed to lean his head against Liam’s shoulder. “If you don’t want me to move in, just say.”

“It’s not that,” Liam says, breathing in the smell of Zayn’s shampoo and something sweet, like brown sugar, on his skin. “I just….I guess I’m just worried about things changing.”

“Sometimes change is for the better,” Zayn says, and Liam closes his eyes, wishing he knew what Zayn meant. Sometimes, he thinks, he’s convinced Zayn sees him as nothing more than a friend – like now, this move could just be the easiest option for both Zayn and Louis, and Zayn’s making the choice that makes the most logical sense. But then sometimes, there’s glimpses of something else. Like when he says things like “change is for the better,” with his head nestled in Liam’s collarbone, and Liam feels his heartbeat pick up a few paces. He just wants to know what’s really going in Zayn’s head, wants to read every thought he’s having and figure out once and for all if Liam’s crazy, or if Zayn really does think of him as more than a best friend.

“You staying?” Zayn asks, lifting his head off Liam’s shoulder and stretching. Liam knows he should say no, say he has to get home and sleep, he has work tomorrow, he has a heart to protect and thoughts to sort out. But then he sees the way the muscles in Zayn’s back wrap around his bones, sees the white glint of his teeth as he yawns, and he gives in.

“Yeah, may as well,” Liam says. 

“Brush your teeth first,” Zayn says, and Liam grins, grabbing the spare toothbrush he keeps in a cup on Zayn’s dresser and following him into the bathroom. They have a competition of who can brush for the longest without having to spit (Zayn wins) and then Liam almost chokes on toothpaste when he sees Zayn with the white foam all around his mouth. They make dirty jokes on their way back to the bedroom, and Zayn makes Liam turn the light off while he jumps into bed because Zayn, for all his tattoos and pouting, hates walking across his bedroom floor in the dark. Liam slides under the covers next to Zayn’s warmth, feeling the dip in the mattress that his own body has made from countless nights in this bed, and thinks about all the tiny fragments that make a house a home.

“Night,” Zayn says, his voice already thick with sleep, and Liam swallows. 

“Night.” 

But he doesn’t sleep, not yet. He lies there, listening to Zayn breathing, feeling the heat radiate off his skin, forgetting that this is more than just a moment, this is second after second stretching out in front of him and layering over in his mind. He thinks, this is what it could be like. Falling asleep next to Zayn, being able to touch him without feeling like he’s going to spontaneously combust because the touch can’t mean what he wants it to mean. Waking up next to him and being able to kiss him like he always, always wants to do. Being able to tell him he loves him just because, and being able to hear Zayn say it back. Liam’s chest feels tight, like there’s an elephant sitting on it, when really Zayn’s just rolled over in his sleep and stretched his arm across Liam. Liam lies completely still, not wanting to stir and wake Zayn up. He holds his breath until his lungs scream, and then he breathes out one long, slow breath. Then he closes his eyes, and wills himself to sleep, focusing on the place where Zayn’s fingers brush against his ribs.

//

Zayn moves in on a Sunday. Liam helps him unpack his clothes, his DVDs, hang up his posters and put together his bed, which took Zayn and Harry an hour to dismantle and Liam fifteen minutes to reassemble. 

“You’ve clocked it in about ten minutes!” Zayn says in shock as he comes into the room with two mugs of coffee. Liam smiles at him, taking the steaming cup from Zayn’s hands and leaning back against the bed frame.

“Fifteen, actually.”

“You’re a gem, Li,” Zayn says, sitting down next to him, and Liam puts those words away deep, deep inside of him in a locked filing cabinet. 

“Now you just need to make your bed and it’ll all be ready,” Liam says, blowing on his coffee and watching the little puffs of steam scurry across the milky surface. Zayn leans his head on Liam’s shoulder.

“I’m knackered, mate. I can just sleep in your bed tonight and deal with sheets and crap tomorrow.” And honestly, this is what Liam’s been dreading. Being so close to Zayn that he can’t tell what he’s imagining and what’s actually happening. Because it sounds like Zayn is actually saying he’d still rather sleep in Liam’s bed than his own, even when his own bed is in the same house as Liam’s. 

“Don’t know why I bothered putting your bed together if you’re still gonna use mine,” Liam grumbles, but there’s no heat behind his words, and he leans his head on top of Zayn’s, the soft tips of his hair tickling Liam’s cheek. Zayn chuckles and horsegrips Liam’s knee so he jolts and spills his coffee down his white tee shirt. 

“Oi!” he exclaims, sending Zayn into further fits of laughter. Liam sets his mug down on the carpet next to him and tugs his tee shirt off, going over to Zayn’s dressers to grab a clean one without even asking.

“That was my plan all along, you know,” Zayn says from the floor as Liam pulls one of Zayn’s many, many black tee shirts over his head. “Get you half naked in my room.” Liam is glad his head is currently buried in fabric, because his cheeks flush bright red. When he surfaces, though, he wishes he’d disappeared into Zayn’s tee shirt, because Louis is standing in Zayn’s doorway with raised eyebrows and a smug, shit-eating grin plastered across his face.

“Not interrupting anything am I?” he asks, leaning against the doorframe.

“Zayn tried to give me third degree burns,” Liam says, keeping his voice light.

“I was just checking your abs were still there after all the ice cream you’ve been eating,” Zayn says, looking up at Liam with a teasing smile. Liam wants to push him into the carpet and pin his wrists above his head, wipe that smirk off his face and – ok, no. Louis is still in the room. 

“Oi,” Liam says, sitting back down and folding his hands in his lap where his dick is starting to get hard. Bloody hell. 

“Well, me and Haz are all done getting my stuff to his. We’re getting Indian for dinner, you guys wanna join? Niall’s already in.” Zayn and Liam look at each other and shrug. 

“Sure.” 

As they’re walking out of Zayn’s room, Zayn says, loud enough for only Liam to hear, “They are still there, by the way. Your abs.” Then he follows Louis out of their flat, looking over his shoulder at Liam with what is undoubtedly a triumphant smirk. Liam is going to buy a shovel tomorrow, because it’s time to start digging his own grave.

//

Whatever expectations Liam had for the torture of living with Zayn, they’re exceeded within the first week. Liam had thought he knew everything there was to know about Zayn – which side of the bed he likes to sleep on, the way his voice sounds when he’s on the phone to his mum, the fact that it takes him 20 minutes and two cups of coffee to properly wake up in the morning – but Liam’s never known him like this before. It’s not just that Liam has to endure Zayn slouching into his room at all hours of the night because he can’t sleep, then just when Liam’s woken himself up enough to talk, Zayn’s snoring on Liam’s spare pillow. It’s not just that Liam has to listen to Zayn riffing to Chris Brown in the shower while Liam brushes his teeth (the personal boundaries between them have disintegrated even further, much to Liam’s dismay). That would be enough for Liam, if it wasn’t also for the fact that he wants to kiss Zayn every time he sees him sprawled out on the couch after work, a hand down his trackies, or every time he rolls over in the morning to see Zayn drooling gorgeously on his pillowcase. And every time Liam feels that familiar tingling at the base of his spine, and he almost reaches down and brushes a soft kiss against Zayn’s temple, he’s reminded, time and time again, that he can’t. That morning kisses and holding hands isn’t what Zayn wants. It’s not how he sees Liam, it never has been and it never will be, and no matter how hard Liam stares at Zayn while he sleeps next to him, trying to see the thoughts floating round beneath his eyelids, Liam will never be more than a friend to Zayn.

Liam reaches breaking point one night, when Zayn finally decides to sleep in his own bed. His skin is prickling and he’s already broken out in a slight sweat, hot and flushed under the sheets. Liam kicks the covers off desperately, not even trying to pretend that it’s not Zayn he’s thinking about as he trails a hand down his stomach, shivering at his own touch. He grips himself, painfully hard, and breathes a sigh of relief. He knows it’s wrong, he really does, but all his mind can focus on is the way Zayn had looked that morning getting out of the shower, his body taut and glistening, a light halo of steam emanating from him. His hair had been plastered flat to his forehead, his eyelashes damp and clumped together, so beautiful it was almost obscene. Slowly, Liam starts to drag his hand up and down his cock, arching his back into the mattress slowly as he imagines Zayn teasing him with his towel, sliding it down just enough so that Liam can see the patch of thick, black hair above his cock, the veins standing out sharply on his hips. Liam imagines putting his mouth there, tracing over Zayn’s tattoos with his tongue. The way Zayn’s muscles would tighten, how his cock would swell up against Liam’s cheek, dark and full until Liam wrapped his mouth around it. He can almost feel Zayn’s fingers knot in his hair, and his mouth is dry as he pictures Zayn pulling Liam’s mouth further down onto his cock.

Liam imagines Zayn’s warm, lean body lying next to him, thinks about the light sheen of sweat that would form on Zayn’s skin if Liam stroked a hand up his thigh, cupping his balls so softly Zayn would think he imagined it. He can almost hear the soft whimpers Zayn would make if Liam traced a finger down to his hole, circling it gently at first, then harder, until Zayn begged for Liam’s fingers, rolling his hips down on Liam’s hand until he was stretched and wet. Liam traces his own hole with the hand that isn’t tugging on his dick, spreading his legs and circling his hips downward into the mattress. He’s breathless, imagining Zayn climbing on top of him, grinding down on Liam’s cock and telling Liam how bad he wants it. Liam tugs harder and faster on his dick, burying his face in his pillow, as he imagines how Zayn would feel sinking down the length of his cock, how tight and hot and wet he would be, the noises he’d make, the way he’d look all flushed and sweaty riding Liam’s dick. Liam imagines rolling Zayn over, pinning him to the mattress, their mouths finding each other messily as Liam fucks into him over and over again. He’d bend Zayn’s legs right back to his shoulders so Zayn could feel it deep, so he’d be stretched nice and tight around Liam. He pictures what Zayn would look like when he came, pupils blown out and mouth slack with pleasure, his fingers gripping Liam’s bicep so tight they’d leave bruises. Liam’s so close he can feel it, and he imagines what it would feel like to come inside Zayn, the way Zayn would tighten around his cock and – Liam feels his own come spill hot and thick over his hand, and he bites down on his lower lip to stifle a moan. He lies there until his heartbeat calms down to its normal rate and his brain doesn’t feel like it’s about to ooze out of his skull, then he fumbles for a tissue on his bedside table, sheepishly wipes his hand, then pulls the pillow over his face. He feels like the world’s worst friend, feels like he’s violated Zayn just by thinking about him in that way. Of course, he imagines sex with Zayn at least eight times a day, but not like that, not while he’s touching himself and getting off to the thought of Zayn riding his cock. There’s no way he’s going to be able to look Zayn in the eye tomorrow and pretend like he hasn’t thought about coming inside him, and then come into his own hand. Fuck.

He’s so, so fucked.

//

The next morning, Zayn’s already up when Liam shuffles into the kitchen, which is definitely not normal. He’s humming something under his breath that sounds a bit like Frank Ocean, and Liam stops for a second to appreciate Zayn’s soft morning hair, the sharp angles of his shoulders in his black tank top, the lazy, slow movements of his hands making coffee, the low thrum of his humming and the way he’s so unself-conscious about it. Then he turns around and flashes Liam a smile that reminds him of a lightening strike, and his cheeks colour up with the memory of last night.

“Morning,” Zayn says, his voice still husky with sleep. “Coffee?”

Liam realises he’s still gaping at Zayn, and quickly closes his mouth.

“Yeah, uh, thanks.”

“You sleep ok?” Zayn says, his voice tinged with concern, and that, that Liam cannot deal with. 

“Yeah, I just – I might have a shower, feeling a bit groggy.” 

“Ok,” Zayn says, stirring sugar into his coffee. “Coffee’ll be here when you get out.”

Liam flees to the bathroom, and tries to get his mind to stop racing as the water runs over him. Not every smile from Zayn is a train wreck waiting to happen in his head, Liam tells himself, not every nice thing he does for Liam has to be negated in some way. Liam can handle Zayn making him coffee for Christ’s sake, he doesn’t need to feel like he’s about to go into cardiac arrest over breakfast. These are just normal things that friends do, it doesn’t mean Zayn’s a superhero or an angel or perfect or incredible. 

It’s just that he’s….all of that, and so much more, and Liam closes his eyes against the steady stream of hot water, trying to stem the flow of thoughts about every little reason he has to love Zayn. He starts reasoning with himself, ignoring the fact that talking to yourself is the first sign of being fucking insane. He can let himself appreciate small things, like coffee and Frank Ocean and Zayn’s finger tapping against his leg while they watch TV, but that will be all. Just a moment, one iota of his energy to appreciate it, and then it’ll be gone. Liam will just think about something else, not about the way Zayn’s face lights up when Liam walks into the room, or all the shades of golden and brown his eyes can look in different light. He can do that, he can do it slowly, train himself not to fall head over heels every time Zayn calls him Li, or reaches over in his sleep to rest his hand on Liam’s shoulder. Liam can cut it off, cut it down to small moments, and eventually it’ll be easy, manageable, able to be filed away in his mind, rather than flooding his head with white noise every time he looks at Zayn.

So it goes. 

He allows himself a moment in the morning when he first wakes up to be warm and comfortable next to Zayn, and think about how he could spend the next thirty years of his life there, before he pulls himself out of bed, pretending not to hear the disgruntled puppy noises Zayn makes as he does. 

There are moments of Zayn’s fingers brushing his as they make breakfast, and his voice from the next room reading out some news article about new photos of Mars (for Niall’s sake) or the announcement of a new Avengers movie (for Liam’s sake). 

There’s a moment to notice the way Zayn’s elbow deliberately bumps Liam’s arm when they’re brushing their teeth before bed, a flutter of hesitation when Zayn follows Liam into his room without saying anything, and a second of Zayn’s breath warming the back of Liam’s neck, soft and steady, before he wills himself to sleep. 

It hurts, hurts like Liam’s jumping under a moving train at least a dozen times a day, but he tells himself it’s better in the long run. Better to keep his distance, as painful as it gets, rather than give himself up to Zayn and end up with his heart dragged out of his chest and crushed in a vice because Zayn loves him, he knows that, but not in that way. 

Liam can see it hurts Zayn, too, when he pretends not to enjoy the video Zayn shows him of a pug wheezing when its tummy gets tickled, when Liam avoids Zayn’s eyes at the dinner table, leaving Niall to fill in the silence, when he tells Zayn he wants to sleep alone. But he’s not an idiot, he knows he can’t keep silently loving Zayn and pretending one day Zayn will just realise and tell Liam he’s felt the same all along, so he lets himself have small moments, so that that’s all he’ll have to miss when he finally lets go.

//

“You’re moping,” Louis says to him at work one day, kicking Liam’s feet under the table in the staff room where they’re both eating their lunch.

“Moping? I’m not moping.” Liam is most definitely moping, because he thought he’d get used to seeing Zayn’s pants accidentally end up in his washing pile, to seeing his toothbrush nestled in the cup next to Liam’s, but it’s been a month, and it’s not getting any easier.

“Definitely moping,” Louis says through a mouthful of microwave Mac n Cheese. “You know what’ll cheer you up?” 

Liam breathes an internal sigh of relief. Louis doesn’t actually want to talk to Liam about his feelings, just wants to make him agree to do something. That, Liam can handle.

“What?” Liam asks, his mouth sticky with peanut butter and jam.

“Drinking,” Louis says, and really, Liam should have known. “Hazza’s having all his weird art friends over this weekend, and I can’t be the only sane person there.” Liam snorts. “And while you’re far from sane, you can bring Zayn and Niall, so at least there’s some semblance of normality there,” Louis finishes, and Liam raises an eyebrow at him.

“You sure know how to sweet talk a guy, Lou.”

“So I’m told,” Louis smirks, and Liam shakes his head fondly.

“Fine. We’ll be there.”

//

They are there, at almost exactly the time Louis told them to be (only about ten minutes late because Zayn decided at the last minute he wanted to wear his hair in a quiff, not a fauxhawk). Louis immediately scuttles over, leaving Harry with a group of people who look like they walked straight out of a music video by The 1975. 

“Thank god,” Louis mutters, grabbing Liam by the elbow and dragging him towards the kitchen. “I need another drink.”

“You not going to introduce us?” Niall asks, and Louis throws him a look that closely resembles Zayn when he’s woken up before 8am. And why is that the first thing Liam thinks of. He grabs a beer and takes a long gulp. Louis immediately pounces.

“Thirsty, Li?” he says, leaning against the kitchen counter with his arms folded and a shit-eating grin across his face.

“I mean, you do make these people sound pretty awful, just making sure I’m prepared,” Liam says calmly. Louis just smirks and grabs another beer, murmuring “moping” in Liam’s ear as he walks past. Liam catches Zayn’s eye just in time to see Zayn give him a confused look, which he studiously ignores. 

“I’m with you, Li. Always better to be prepared,” says Niall, already onto his second beer, and how. “Bottoms up lads,” he says, clinking bottles with Zayn, and the four of them take a swig. 

An hour or so later, Liam is crammed onto Louis and Harry’s ridiculously small couch between Niall and a guy with really large hands and an even larger quiff who’s talking loudly to Harry and receiving very unfriendly looks from Louis. He seems alright to Liam; he’s a DJ on the student radio station, Nick something, not that Liam ever listens to student radio. Niall’s making eyes at one of the girls across the room, a strikingly pretty girl with dark skin and braids staying close to her friend, completely ignoring Liam, and so Liam is left with nothing to do except watch Zayn. And Zayn is….well. Zayn is sitting on the arm of a chair occupied by a guy with hair longer than Harry’s, model’s features, and a silk blouse unbuttoned almost to the navel. Harry and his friends obviously all shop at the same thrift store, because it’s almost the exact thing Harry, Nick and all the rest of them are wearing, down to the ratty, worn down pointed-toe boots. Liam wrinkles his nose, closely monitoring the precise distance between Zayn’s shoulder and silk shirt guy’s. They’re laughing about something, heads bowed, mouths wide open, and Liam feels like there’s something in his stomach clawing to get out. Like his skin’s too tight, like he can’t breathe, like he’s about to go into cardiac arrest. It’s stupid, it’s so so fucking stupid that he can’t even watch his best friend talk to another guy without needing a defibrillator, and Liam feels so furious with himself that his hands curl into fists. 

“M’going out for a smoke,” Liam mutters to Niall, who responds vaguely, without taking his eyes off the girl across the room. Liam wishes there was a way to get outside without walking past Zayn, but apparently Harry didn’t plan for this moment when he took the lease on the damn apartment. Liam focuses on pulling his smokes out of his back pocket and fumbling for a lighter, desperately trying not to listen to what Zayn and Pointed Boots guy are having a gigging fit about, but managing to hear something about “Louis Vuitton” and “runway season”, and since when does Zayn know anything about fashion? His favourite outfit is sweats and one of Liam’s plaid shirts, but of course, what would Liam know. He doesn’t have cheekbones that put even Zayn’s to shame, or a glorious mane of hair that he just casually keeps running his fingers through but never quite messing it up enough for it to look shit, or – Liam’s staring, and Model Boy can tell he’s staring, and before Zayn can turn around and notice that he’s staring, Liam walks out of the room, his cheeks burning and his heart pounding.

He’s probably the worst friend on earth, Liam thinks, lighting his cigarette with trembling hands. He watches Zayn while he sleeps, thinks about him when he masturbates, and eavesdrops when he’s talking to pretty boys with perfect hair. Which is what Zayn deserves, Liam reminds himself. Zayn deserves models with tousled manes and bedroom eyes, not an accountant who’s not even brave enough to tell his best friend how he really feels. 

His spiral of self-loathing is interrupted by Louis slamming the screen door to the back garden. Louis slips a cigarette out from behind his ear, wordlessly taking Liam’s smoke from his mouth to light his own.

“I’m not moping,” Liam says, taking his cigarette back from Louis.

“Didn’t say you were,” Louis says, but Liam can hear the smirk in his voice, even if he can’t see it in the darkness of Louis and Harry’s tiny back garden. Then his voice turns more serious. “You should tell him, Li.” 

Liam snorts. “Right, and what good would that do? March up to Zayn and declare my love for him so that I can get laughed at by a room of models and radio DJs? Subsequently ruining the friendship that I’ve had for five years? Great plan, Lou.” Liam doesn’t mean for his voice to sound so bitter, but he’s tired, he’s so, so tired of hiding his feelings from everyone. From Zayn more than anyone.

“You don’t know that it’d ruin your friendship,” Louis says softly, and Liam is reminded that Louis does have a personality setting other than Asshole. 

“I just can’t risk it,” Liam says, his voice gentler, flicking his cigarette butt onto the ground and grinding it in with his toe. “Even if I go my entire life without telling him, even if I have to be the best man at his wedding to a bloody Louis Vuitton model, I’d rather that than lose him as a friend.” 

“I know,” Louis says, punching Liam lightly on the shoulder. “So we’d better go inside and make sure that Louis Vuitton wedding isn’t gonna happen.”

They can’t have been gone more than ten minutes, but the scene inside is decidedly different from the way Liam had left it. Niall is dancing closely in the middle of the room with the girl with braids, while Nick and Harry argue over the iPod and the rest of Harry’s friends sway in their seats or on their feet in what Liam supposes must be their approximation of dancing. Automatically, he scans the room for Zayn, and then wishes he hadn’t. 

Zayn’s in the corner, away from everyone else, his hand on Louis Vuitton model’s waist, their lips barely an inch apart. Liam feels invisible, like he doesn’t exist, like there’s no one else in the room except Zayn and this boy, this boy that Zayn’s kissing, his grip tightening on the boy’s waist and pulling him closer. Liam wishes he could disappear, wishes he could just hold his breath and slip under the waves and never come up for air. It’s over, he thinks, it’s really over. It’s time for Liam to stop waiting on Zayn to wake up and realise Liam’s so in love with him he can’t feel anything else. 

Liam knows he should just go home, he really should, but he’s obviously a masochist or something, because he elbows his way through the sweaty bodies to the kitchen, grabs another beer, and slips back outside for another smoke. Any other guy would fight for Zayn, he thinks, any decent guy would walk back in there and smack Model Boy right in his perfect face, and tell Zayn it’s him, it’s always been him. But Liam’s scared, he’s so scared of losing Zayn’s friendship that he just can’t bring himself to do it. It’s enough, he tells himself desperately, to be a permanent fixture in Zayn’s life, even if it’s not the fixture he’d like to be. It has to be enough.

Liam’s still sitting there, twisting the silver paper from the cigarette pack into smaller and smaller pieces, when Louis comes outside hours later. 

“There you are,” Louis says, flopping down onto the ground next to Liam. “You been out here all night?”

“Almost,” Liam says.

“Zayn needs to go home,” Louis says, and Liam can hear in his voice how much Louis wishes he didn’t have to say it.

“Where’s Niall?” Liam asks.

“Went home with Leigh-Anne. And Miles left with Nick, before you ask. He and Zayn - they were both too wasted, Nick took Miles home.” Liam sighs, trying not to feel relieved. He gets to his feet, scatters the rest of the cigarette packet onto the ground before he heads towards the screen door. 

“Liam,” Louis says, and Liam turns around. “He love you, y’know. Just….not in that way.” 

Liam’s heart drops. “I know,” Liam says, trying to make his voice sound normal when he feels like he’s just been kicked in the stomach, like there’s no air left in his lungs. Because he does know, he gets reminded every time something like this happens, every time he goes to kiss Zayn and has to remind himself he can’t. He fucking knows, he just wishes he could accept it.

He finds Zayn slumped against Harry on the couch, both of them having a slurred conversation about who is prettier – a conversation they’ve had at least a thousand times.

“But Zayn, your eyelashes,” Harry is saying, pulling his fingers gently through Zayn’s decidedly floppy quiff.

“You have the cutest dimples,” Zayn says, poking at Harry’s cheeks. Liam rolls his eyes. He takes a moment to take in Zayn like this, cheeks flushed from booze, hair all over the place, his body soft and pliant against Harry’s. Liam wants to gather him up and kiss him until he can’t breathe. But he can’t.

“You’re both the prettiest,” Liam says, untangling Zayn from Harry and slinging his arm around Liam’s shoulders. 

“Don’t lie,” Harry pouts, “you think Zayn’s prettier.” Liam silently agrees with him, but his throat seizes up. 

“Well, he’s going to have to fight me on that one,” Louis says, coming up behind Liam and pulling Harry to his feet. Liam is momentarily astounded at how someone practically half Harry’s size can manage to lift a dead weight off the couch, but somehow Louis manages it. “Night boys,” he says, as Harry nuzzles into his shoulder. 

“Night,” Liam says, trying to convey in one glance how grateful he is that Louis just gets this situation, even if he can be a real asshole about it sometimes. Liam practically carries Zayn out to the car – Liam only had a few beers, and it’s been hours since he had the last one, so he’s ok to drive. He doesn’t much fancy waiting for a taxi with Zayn semi-conscious and draped around his neck anyway. He pours Zayn into the passenger seat, making sure he’s buckled in before he goes round to the driver’s side. Liam lets himself enjoy the quiet solitude, nothing but him and the hum of the engine and the light of the streetlamps flickering over Zayn’s face. Zayn’s still asleep when they get home, so Liam unbuckles him and carries him inside, gently laying him on his bed. He looks small, Liam thinks, curled up like a little kid, his eyelids gently flickering and his chest rising and falling, and Liam wonders what he’s dreaming about. Just as he’s about to walk out of Zayn’s room, Zayn’s eyes flutter open, and the sweetest grin spreads across his face when he sees Liam. Liam feels himself start to come apart at the seams.

“Leeeeyumm,” he says, his voice soft and thick with sleep, and Liam can’t breathe. He clears his throat quietly.

“You ok?” Liam asks, “you want a glass of water or anything?”

“No,” Zayn says, his voice suddenly serious. Liam nods and turns to leave, then hears Zayn say his name again. 

“Liam,” he murmurs, and Liam pauses with his hand on the doorframe. 

“You’re my best friend,” Zayn says, then closes his eyes and lets his head drop to the side, his hair falling across his forehead. Liam stares at him for a moment, takes him in, and thinks that nothing Zayn’s ever said to him has ever sounded more like I love you.

//

Liam is rudely awoken by an intense aroma of beer and cold feet pressing up against his leg as Zayn slips into his bed without even so much as a good morning. Liam had been awake most of the night, replaying in his mind the image of Zayn kissing Miles, of Zayn lying so peacefully on his bed. Zayn saying his name, half asleep. Hearing him say “you’re my best friend” like it meant so much more than that. 

But of course, none of that matters anymore, because Soft Drunk Zayn is gone and Morning Zayn is here, all grumbles and sharp angles against Liam as he tries to get comfortable. Liam gently but firmly rolls Zayn onto his side, then curls into his back, wrapping his arm around Zayn’s waist and pulling him in close. So what if he’s being selfish; Zayn’s the one who woke him up. 

“Feel like shit,” Zayn says, his voice half muffled by Liam’s pillow and hoarse with sleep. Liam allows himself a small smile.

“Not surprised,” he says. “There’s some water here, you want some?”

“Can I drink it lying down?” Zayn asks, and Liam laughs softly.

“Probably not,” he says, and Zayn groans. 

“Then no.” They lie there for a while, until Liam can feel Zayn’s skin warming up against his and his breathing even out. Just when Liam’s about to nod off again, his bedroom door bangs open and Niall saunters in, flopping down across both Zayn’s and Liam’s legs. He receives loud swearing from both of them, but just grins down at them, clutching a paper bag of KFC.

“Morning lads,” he says brightly. “Anyone want a chip?”

“Fuck off,” Zayn moans, but Liam sits up and snatches a chicken drumstick off Niall. 

“How’d it go last night, with –“

“Leigh-Anne,” Niall offers, licking grease and the colonel’s eleven secret herbs and spices off his fingers. Liam nods approvingly. 

“She was hot.”

“So was Miles,” Niall says, then shoots Liam a guilty look. Liam schools his face into practiced indifference.

“That his name?” Zayn says, managing to lift his face out of the pillow to talk. “I can barely remember talking to him. Think I ended up kissing him,” he says, and Liam wants to punch something very, very badly.

“You could say that,” Niall says, eyeing Liam warily. 

“Too bad you were too drunk to remember, he was fit,” Liam says, and Zayn actually turns around, shooting Liam a look that he’s not quite sure he understands. He’ll be sure to spend a few hours over-analysing that later.

“Guess it’s just me that got lucky then,” Niall says smugly, and Liam throws a chip at him. Niall retaliates by tickling Liam’s feet, and Liam accidentally kicks Zayn in the knee, then Zayn’s swearing and Niall’s cackling, and Liam thinks it might be ok to hope that things can just go back to normal.

//

Liam pushes with all his might against Zayn’s socked feet, his back arched into the arm of the couch, and grits his teeth. They’re playing Pushfeet (obviously) while they wait for the popcorn in the microwave. Liam has a strict rule against starting a movie before the popcorn is ready, but he’s now regretting his Pushfeet challenge, because Zayn’s legs are almost straight, and Liam isn’t one to concede defeat that easily. He’s saved by the bell, literally, when the microwave pings and he scrambles to his feet, letting Zayn slump down on the couch.

“You know it was a lost battle, Li,” Zayn calls as Liam dons the oven glove to pull the bag of popcorn out of the microwave. Zayn always makes fun of him, but Liam’s been a victim of kernel-burns before, and he’s not risking that again. He gingerly pulls the bag open, careful to keep his face away from the steam (it also poses a burn-risk) and pours their movie snack into a bowl, then carries it back over to the couch. He has to pout for about 2 seconds before Zayn moves his legs up to make room, and Liam rests his head on top of Zayn’s knees, one arm on his thigh and the other wrapped around the bowl. 

They’re watching Winter Soldier for the eighteen-thousandth time, but it’s not so much the movie that Liam’s looking forward to. It’s the way he feels like he can be close to Zayn again without the air escaping from his lungs, the way that Zayn isn’t careful around him anymore like he was for a few days after that night at Louis and Harry’s. Liam pays more attention to the way that Zayn’s legs shake when he laughs, rocking Liam’s head back and forth, the way he lets Liam feed him popcorn without taking his eyes off the screen, and that point in the movie when Zayn’s fingers find their way into Liam’s hair, pulling through his short locks gently, absent-mindedly. It’s raining tonight, one of those summer thunderstorms that come out of nowhere, which makes this even better, Liam thinks, the windowpanes glossy with moisture and the faint drumming sound it makes on the roof. 

Liam’s more focused on the way the rain makes the glass in the windows ripple than he is on the movie, not that Zayn notices. He watches the light shift and change as the cars pass outside, and thinks about the way that this little flat has become his whole world, how his life comes down to Zayn’s butter-sticky fingers making a mess of Liam’s hair as he distractedly combs through it and their socked feet entwined at the end of the couch. He wouldn’t ask for anything more, he thinks. 

“Oi, Li, quit wriggling,” Zayn says after Liam’s changed position for the fifth time. Liam looks over at him meekly, uncrossing his legs slowly so he doesn’t jolt Zayn.

“Sorry,” he says. “Just can’t get comfortable.” 

“C’mere,” Zayn says, spreading his legs, and Liam raises an eyebrow uncertainly before Zayn grabs him, pulling him down between his legs and holding his head against his chest. Liam breathes in his scent, sweet brown sugar and Gucci, and closes his eyes for a second. For one second, he lets himself forget that Zayn is his best friend and housemate. Then it’s gone.

“We should do something different this weekend,” Zayn says, and there’s something in his voice that makes Liam lift his head off Zayn’s chest to listen.

“Like what?” Zayn’s eyes are still on the movie, and Liam can’t read his face.

“Just get away somewhere. Get in the car and drive. I feel like I’m going in circles sometimes, home to work and back again.” Zayn’s fingers rest carelessly on Liam’s shoulder, and the knowledge of it, the lightest touch that means nothing at all to Zayn and everything to Liam in this moment is driving him insane. Not to mention the fact that it feels like Zayn is trying to tell him something. He wills his voice to be calm.

“Like a road trip? Could be fun. We could invite Niallar as well.” Zayn stiffens slightly, and Liam is definitely going to go insane if he doesn’t figure out what Zayn is up to right now.

“Yeah, we could ask Lou and Haz too,” Zayn says, though Liam can hear the lump in his throat. Fuck it, he thinks. He goes out on a limb.

“Ugh, they’d be all romantic and gross,” he says. Zayn looks down at him, the corners of his mouth quirking up. 

“Yeah? Yeah, you’re right,” Zayn says, looking back to the TV screen. “And actually, I think Niall’s got that date with whassername this weekend.” Liam thinks that if Niall doesn’t already have a date, he’ll make sure he does now. 

“Leigh-Anne? Yeah, he did mention her actually.” Zayn’s fingers trace further down Liam’s arm, onto the skin just beneath his tee shirt sleeve, and Liam wills his breath to stay even. He has no idea what they’ve just agreed to, but it feels like an unspoken promise.

“Guess it’s just you and me then,” Zayn says, grinning down at him, and Liam is hit so hard by the fact that he’s in love with his best friend that it kind of takes his breath away.

//

They leave on Saturday morning before Niall wakes up, even though Zayn’s not usually a morning person. Liam takes a strange kind of pride in the fact that he’s got Zayn out of bed this early, on a weekend no less, and Zayn doesn’t even seem grumpy as he gets into the driver’s seat, teasing Liam about his music choices and telling him he’s banned from the aux cord. Liam claims a tiny victory in thinking that maybe, just maybe, Zayn actually wants to be up at ass o’clock on a Saturday morning to spend time with him. 

They eventually agree on The Front Bottoms, a band Louis introduced Liam to (by way of playing it at full volume in his room until Liam secretly googled the lyrics). Zayn pushes the speed limit as always, and the wind rushes in through their open windows, cooling Liam’s cheeks that burn with the promise this weekend holds.

They’ve agreed to flip a coin whenever they get to a fork in the road to decide which way to go, and Liam’s soon in fits of laughter watching Zayn curse at the cars behind them tooting when they lose the coin under the passenger seat. It takes surprisingly little time for them to get out of the city, and Liam can tell they’re getting nearer and nearer to the ocean when he can smell the salt through his open window. 

“Ok, I'm starving Li. We're stopping for lunch at Blackpool.” 

Liam grins over at him. “Fish and chips?” 

“How cliché,” Zayn says teasingly, but he pulls over outside the first fish and chip shop they see. 

“Toss a coin for who’s paying?” Liam jokes, and Zayn smiles at him with his tongue between his teeth.

“Tell you what, I’ll get this if you get the ice creams after,” Zayn says, pocketing his wallet and hopping out of the car.

“Deal,” Liam says, and gets out behind Zayn, slamming the door.

“Leave the window open a bit would’ya, it’s hot as balls.” Liam raises an eyebrow and snorts.

“Charming.” The heat doesn’t look like it touches Zayn anyway, his hair still perfectly coiffed and his skin looking fresh and decidedly sweat-free, even in a black tee shirt and skinny jeans. Liam, on the other hand, is sweating like a pig in a tank top and shorts. Some people have all the luck. 

They take their huge greasy package of fish and chips to a picnic table overlooking the beach. Liam feels cooler just looking at the ocean, stretching out for miles and miles until it reaches the distant seam of the sky. 

“It's beautiful here,” Liam says, then wishes he hadn’t. This isn’t a date, for Christ’s sake. Zayn just nods.

“Used to come here all the time when I was a kid,” he says, and Liam grins, imagining a little Zayn running round in the waves. 

“We hardly ever went to the beach,” Liam says, munching on chips and squinting into the sun. “My sisters hated it.” Zayn laughs softly.

“Mine too, they couldn’t stand the sand. But mum and dad loved it, so we came most weekends in summer.”

“I thought you couldn’t swim?” Liam says, suddenly remembering something Zayn had told him, probably years ago.

“Can’t. Never got further than paddling, with my wings on ‘n everything,” Zayn says, and Liam bursts out laughing. He’s picturing Zayn with bright orange water wings on, paddling in the shallows with all his tattoos and his bad-boy pout. 

“Come on, we should get in,” Liam says, wiping the salt and grease off his hands and pulling off his tank top. He’s been looking for an excuse to swim ever since they got here, needing to wash some of the sweat off himself. But then he notices how Zayn shrinks in on himself, looks down at his hands and avoids Liam’s gaze.

“You go if you like, I’ll just watch from here.”

“Oh come on, we can just stay in the shallows,” Liam pleads. “You said yourself, it’s hot as balls out.” Zayn smiles softly at that, and swings his legs off the side of the picnic table. 

“I don’t –“

“You’ve got five seconds to get your kit off or I’m carrying you down there and throwing you in,” Liam warns, and hopes that it’s friendly enough for the innuendo to go unnoticed. Maybe not, as Zayn gives him a look that’s unreadable to Liam – almost like he’s not sure whether to run towards Liam or as far away from him as possible.

“Fine, fine,” Zayn says, pulling off his tee shirt. Liam can’t help but admire the sinewy twist of Zayn’s torso, the layers of muscle on his back and the dark ink of his tattoos against his golden brown skin. Then Zayn catches his eye, and Liam forgets where he is for a second. Liam’s seen that look before, at parties and at bars when Zayn knows someone’s been eyeing him up all night, and he finally decides to acknowledge their presence. Liam’s just never been the subject of it before, only watched from afar as boy after boy and girl after girl fall under that spell. Now he knows why, though. Zayn looks at Liam like he knows he was watching, like he….likes that Liam was watching. Liam feels caught out, like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar, and his cheeks start to heat up, so without thinking, he starts running towards the sea.

“Last one in buys dinner!” he yells over his shoulder, hoping that whatever Zayn saw in Liam’s face back there, it wasn’t the truth.

He’s almost at the water when he hears thudding footsteps behind him, and looks over his shoulder to see Zayn streaking past him, a grin so wide and free and happy that Liam’s chest hurts to look at it, and not because he’s sprinting. He puts in a last burst as he hits the shallows to catch up with Zayn, and tackles him into a wave. 

They come up gasping, and when Liam flicks his hair out of his face he sees panic in Zayn’s eyes. Shit, he thinks, I promised him we’d stay in the shallows. He tightens his grip on Zayn’s waist, holding him upright until his feet find the sand. 

“I got you,” he says, and Zayn nods, finding his feet. He doesn’t let go of Liam’s arms. Liam doesn’t let go of his waist. There are droplets of water clinging to Zayn’s lips, running down his nose, clumping his eyelashes so that they’re thicker and blacker than usual. Liam has never wanted to kiss him as badly as he does in that moment.

Then Zayn beats him to it.

He leans in, movie-style, eyes closed and lips parted and wet hair sweeping across his forehead, and presses his lips against Liam’s. The briefest touch, then Zayn pulls away, looking hesitantly up at him.

“Sorry,” he says, and blinks water out of his eyes. Liam looks at him incredulously, wondering why, in any possible universe, Zayn would ever apologise for kissing him. Liam moves his hand from Zayn’s waist to his neck and pulls him in again, opening his mouth to deepen the kiss. Their lips slip against each other, wet and salty, and Liam licks tentatively into Zayn’s mouth. Zayn’s hand slips from Liam’s cheek to his throat and tightens slightly, like he’s holding on for dear life, and Liam lets out a strangled breath. He’s hard, in front of all the families and tourists and everyone else on the beach, and he has never cared less about anything, because he’s kissing Zayn. Zayn, his best friend, who’s been the most constant thing in Liam’s life since he left home for Bradford and college and found Louis and Niall and Harry and a job. Zayn, who he’s watched go from a shy, brooding art major to a goofball who runs into the ocean with Liam and kisses him in front of a beach full of people. Zayn, who he’s in love with.

Zayn pulls back tentatively, and Liam looks down at him, mouth slightly slack and eyes a little out of focus, and thinks, I did that. Me, Liam, did that to you, Zayn. It’s the best thought he’s had in as long as he can remember. 

“We should probably get back to the car,” Zayn murmurs, his mouth millimetres from Liam’s. Liam can feel his breath on his jaw.

“Yeah, we should. Except I kind of….may have a boner,” Liam says, and is more than a little surprised when he doesn’t feel at all embarrassed telling Zayn that. Zayn just grins a little and strokes the back of Liam’s neck with his thumb. 

“Maybe you could give me a quick swimming lesson while we wait for Woody to go back to sleep,” Zayn says, and it’s such a crude metaphor that Liam snorts right in Zayn’s face, and then they’re both in fits of laughter, splashing and swearing at each other. They might have crossed a line, gone past the point of no return, but, choking on seawater and running after Zayn, Liam knows that it’s still his best friend there, reaching out for his hand when the water gets too deep.

Their ‘swimming lesson’ consists of Liam standing behind Zayn, holding either side of his face while Zayn floats on his back. Liam leans over him, making stupid faces until Zayn laughs so hard he almost drowns. And even though they’ve just been kissing in front of a whole beach of people, and Liam’s boner has only just subsided, it feels just as easy with Zayn as it did before. Maybe even easier, Liam thinks, because now he can lean down and kiss Zayn, Spiderman style, rather than just thinking about doing it and then feeling guilty. He still has a million questions swimming around in his head, including “how long have you been meaning to kiss me” and “why didn’t you kiss me a year ago”, but for now, feeling Zayn’s pulse in his temples and watching him stare up at Liam with all the trust in the world, floating serenely on his back, is enough.

Eventually they make it back to the car, and Zayn shoots him a sideways look from the driver’s side as Liam fumbles with his seatbelt, burning his fingers on the metal bit.

“So, where to?” Zayn asks with that wild, dark look in his eyes he’d had just before he kissed Liam. He kissed Liam. 

“Up to you,” Liam says, because he’s not sure how far or how fast to take this thing. Even though it’s what he’s dreamed about for months, years maybe, he’s not the one leading the charge here. Zayn kissed him (Zayn kissed him), but Liam’s not sure if Zayn wants to do anything more than kiss him. 

Then Zayn gets that look on his face, slides his tongue into his cheek and purses his lips, raising an eyebrow and looking fucking obscene, in all honesty, and says, “I was thinking we drive somewhere quiet and secluded and I ride you until I can’t feel my legs anymore.” 

Liam swallows, hard, closes his eyes for a second to make sure he doesn’t pass out, then nods once, twice. “Oh – ok,” he manages, and Zayn puts the car in gear and drives. 

Finally, after what feels like hours to Liam in the baking hot car with Zayn’s stupid air conditioner that doesn’t work, they find a narrow country lane that looks like it hasn’t been driven down in years, and Zayn shuts off the engine. The keys are still swaying in the ignition as he scrambles into Liam’s lap, straddling his thighs and kissing him with both hands on Liam’s cheeks, wet, open-mouthed kisses that leave Liam breathless and flushed. Liam’s already so worked up from the beach, the almost-silent drive here and the heat of the car that he moans into Zayn’s mouth, rolling his hips up against Zayn just to feel some friction. They’re both still in their boxes, since it was too hot to put their pants on after the ocean, and Liam can feel how hard Zayn is, his cock pressed up against Liam’s stomach as Zayn grinds down onto his lap. Zayn’s smell, slightly salty from the ocean and boyish with sweat and that sweet undertone, like brown sugar, engulfs Liam.

“Fuck, Zayn, gotta –“ Liam gasps as Zayn kisses down his neck, his lips hungry and rough, skimming Liam’s skin with his teeth in his eagerness. Liam slides his hands over Zayn’s ass – not that there’s much of it – and hooks his thumbs into the waistband of Zayn’s boxers, pulling them down and using the elastic tension to pull Zayn closer to him. He runs his hands over Zayn’s ass, letting the waistband of his boxers snap back into place as Zayn whines into the hollow of Liam’s throat, licking around his birthmark and grinding helplessly down onto Liam. 

“Need these off, Z,” Liam whispers in Zayn’s ear, and even he can hear how low and hoarse his voice sounds. He’s never felt such an urgent need to feel someone, all of them, with anyone else before in his life. Usually he’s happy to take it slow, revel in lazy kisses and soft stroking and the thrill of the build-up, but right now he just needs Zayn, needs him so bad he can’t think about anything else, he can’t think about what this means for their friendship or what they’ll do after or whether this means the same to Zayn as it does to Liam. He just needs to feel Zayn, all of him, right now, and so as soon as Zayn’s managed to get one leg out of his boxers, awkwardly hovering over Liam with his dick hanging dark and swollen between them, Liam pulls him down, rough and hard, and slides his hands over Zayn’s ass again. He can’t help it, with Zayn’s cock rubbing against Liam’s stomach with every movement and Zayn’s heavy gasps in his ear; Liam drags a finger, a little roughly, over   
Zayn’s hole, and immediately feels every muscle in Zayn’s body tense up. Zayn leaves a mark on Liam’s neck that’s probably going to stay there for a few days. Liam immediately pulls back, scared that he’s hurt Zayn, but his face looks completely blissed out, his mouth slack, eyes closed, a small crease between his eyebrows the only sign that he felt anything.

“Was that….ok?” Liam asks hesitantly. Zayn’s eyes snap open, and Liam is struck by how blown-out his pupils are; his entire eye looks almost black as he fixes Liam with a deathly stare.

“Liam, if you don’t get your finger inside me in the next three seconds, I’m making you walk back to Bradford.” 

Usually Liam would giggle at that, at typical, bossy Zayn, if only the situation wasn’t so serious. Like, Zayn begging for Liam’s fingers in his ass kind of serious. Liam circles his finger round Zayn’s hole again, and feels Zayn’s body relax against him, their chests pressed so close he can feel Zayn’s heartbeat pound against him. Then he stops, struck by a sudden thought.

“Lube,” Liam croaks, “we don’t have any –“

“Glovebox,” Zayn says, barely taking his mouth off Liam’s collarbone to answer. “There’s condoms too.” And Liam does raise an eyebrow at that, because really? Lube? In the glovebox? He’s pretty sure not even Niall keeps lube in the glovebox.

“Liam, you deaf?” Zayn asks, wrapping his hand around Liam’s cock in a way that’s probably meant to be threatening but which really just makes the coil of tight heat in Liam’s stomach unwind an inch. And who is he to question Zayn’s lube placement anyway? Sending a silent prayer to the lube gods, Liam reaches around Zayn to open the glovebox, sending a pile of papers, CDs and condoms onto the ground. Shaking his head, he grabs one of the condoms off the floor, then fumbles blindly around the mess in the glovebox until his hand clamps down on a small bottle, and he quickly fishes it out, checking the label before opening it and slicking up three of his fingers. 

“Thought about this so much,” Zayn is whispering into Liam’s ear, rutting harder up against his stomach. “About you getting me loose, getting me nice and wet, ready to fuck. Usually while I’ve got two fingers inside me.” Liam sort of had Zayn picked for a dirty talker, but not like this, not when Zayn’s breath is hot and moist against Liam’s ear, not when his teeth catch Liam’s lobe and drag on it, making Liam groan a little. When he’s telling Liam he’s thought about this, that Zayn imagined it too, it wasn’t just Liam lying in bed on those too hot nights getting off to the thought of his best friend. Liam slides one finger, slowly, inside Zayn, and then it’s Zayn’s turn to whine, his fingernails scratching against Liam’s shoulders. 

“Fffffffuck,” Zayn breathes out, tugging a little too hard on Liam’s cock. It’s all so perfect – Zayn tight and throbbing around his finger as he drags it in and out, sweat pooling in Zayn’s collarbone right where Liam can reach out and taste it, Zayn’s hand, dry and rough, against Liam’s cock, just the right side of painful – and Liam wants to stay in this moment forever. But Zayn is whining again, wriggling against Liam, so without warning, Liam adds another finger. Zayn throws his head back, arching his spine, and Liam can see every vein in his throat where it stands out against his perfect caramel skin, glowing in the fading light.

“Ok?” Liam asks, his voice shaking more than he’d like it to as Zayn pulls absent-mindedly on Liam’s cock, his fingers getting slick from the pre-come leaking out of Liam’s tip. 

“You’re teasing,” Zayn moans, bringing his mouth back down to Liam’s and sucking on his bottom lip, dragging his teeth against it until Liam can taste his own blood. 

“So’re you,” Liam manages before he pushes in a third finger, and Zayn stills above him, whimpering slightly. Liam crooks his fingers, moving slowly but surely and hearing Zayn’s breathing get ragged. Zayn’s barely moving his hand on Liam’s cock anymore, just clinging to his shoulder like it’s a life raft, rolling his hips down onto Liam’s fingers and making the most obscene, delicious noises Liam’s heard in his entire life. Liam realises he’s probably going to come soon even if Zayn doesn’t move his hand, so gently, slowly, he pulls out his fingers, earning him another whimper from Zayn and a baleful look. Liam consoles him with kisses over his jaw, down his neck where his veins are still pulsing strong, while he clumsily rolls on the condom, trying not to come all over his own hand. Zayn knows exactly where to place himself, taking over Liam’s hand with his own and lining himself up with Liam’s cock before sinking down slowly, dizzyingly, until Liam gets black spots at the edges of his vision. Zayn is so tight Liam feels like he’s going to explode, he’s throbbing almost painfully, and it’s too much until Zayn moves, and Liam lets out a rattling breath he hadn’t realised he was holding in. Zayn rocks himself slowly up and down on Liam’s cock, and even through the condom Liam can feel the tight, hot drag of Zayn’s skin. Zayn starts to fuck himself on Liam’s cock faster, his pants turning into gasps, then moans, then Liam’s name. Liam has never heard anything sound as good as his name falling from Zayn’s lips, red and swollen from kissing Liam, and he’s never seen anything look as good as Zayn, all taut muscle and glistening brown skin, filling Liam’s vision as he bounces up and down on Liam’s prick, his own cock bobbing between them, leaking precome. The coil in Liam’s stomach is unwinding faster and faster until he feels like he’s going to break, and he digs his fingers into Zayn’s hips so hard he hopes he leaves bruises, wrapping a hand around Zayn’s cock and moaning Zayn’s name into his collarbone, loud and desperate, as he comes. Seconds later, he feels Zayn’s warm come spill over his hand, Liam’s name still falling from his lips. Zayn falls forward against him, burying his face in Liam’s shoulder, and Liam can feel him trembling slightly. Or maybe it’s him. He feels like he’s maybe left his body and he’s no longer inhabiting the earthly realm, but he plans to figure that out later. 

Zayn gingerly lifts himself off Liam’s cock, and Liam pulls off the condom, tying it off and tossing it out of the open car window.

“Jesus,” Zayn says, letting his head fall back against the driver’s headrest. Liam looks across at Zayn’s profile, his jaw cutting a swathe through the soft amber light of the sky behind him, his eyelashes ten thousand miles long. Liam’s chest feels as big as the ocean, it aches with so much love, so much longing, that he can barely look at Zayn. 

“Did we really just -?” Zayn asks, and Liam nods, suddenly feeling exposed as Zayn looks over at him, sweat-covered and totally boneless. He pulls his boxers up, ignoring Zayn’s gaze, because now that the mind-numbing, earth-shattering sex is over, the questions are returning to Liam’s head. Questions he’s almost too afraid to ask, with Zayn looking at him like that.

“You wanna drive back?” Liam asks instead.

“Na, it’s late,” Zayn says, even though the sun’s only just set. “Let’s just sleep here, and drive back in the morning.” Liam nods, and together they pull down the backseats of Zayn’s car, climbing in through the trunk and staring out the back windscreen at the ceiling of stars spread out above them. Maybe it’s the heat of Zayn’s body next to him, under an old blanket they’d found in Zayn’s trunk, or maybe it’s the emotions of the day or maybe just the sex (the unbelievably incredible, life-changing sex), but Liam feels himself nodding off before he really has time to formulate any of the questions he really wants to ask Zayn. The only thing he manages to say before he drifts off is, “You’re my best friend, Z.” He’s asleep before he can hear Zayn’s answer.

//

The sun’s barely risen when Liam wakes up the next morning, the sky a dirty dishwater grey. Their breath has fogged up all the windows in Zayn’s car overnight, leaving condensation running down the glass. Liam turns his head to look at Zayn, sleeping flat on his back as always, his mouth hanging open and a thin trail of drool running down his chin. Liam shivers; Zayn’s rolled himself up in the blanket like a damn burrito (as always), and even though it’s August, there’s enough chill in the air, this close to the ocean, to leave Liam’s skin prickling with goosebumps. He grabs a shirt off the floor – a plaid one of his, he notes – and pulls it on, carefully opening the car door and closing it as gently as possible. He doesn’t really need to bother – there could be a tsunami that takes out half of Blackpool and Zayn would probably just continue to sleep, or at the very most open one eye and complain about the noise. Liam stands in the ditch of the country lane they’re parked in to take a leak, and thinks about the night before. He thinks about Zayn’s mouth, the way it had fit against Liam’s so perfectly, his lips curved up in a soft smile as he sighed into Liam’s mouth. He thinks about Zayn’s body, the way it felt made for Liam like no one else’s has before, like they just….fit. He turns back to the car to see Zayn propped up on his elbow, running a hand through his mess of hair. Liam loves him like this so much it hurts – sleep in his eye, his fringe plastered flat and uneven to his forehead instead of quiffed up with all that product (although, Liam loves him like that too). He opens the back door and climbs back in, greeting Zayn with a shy smile. He’s not really sure where he stands now – Liam knows they crossed a line last night, he know that they can’t go back to where they were before, but he’s also not sure where they can go. He decides to just act like normal, like nothing’s changed, and gauge Zayn’s response.

“Morning,” Liam says. “You sleep ok?”

“Freezing,” Zayn says, frowning slightly and rubbing his eye with one finger. Liam raises an eyebrow slightly.

“You were freezing?” he says, his voice amused. “You had the entire blanket all night.” Zayn looks down at himself, cocooned in the blanket, then shrugs it off his legs. 

“Sorry,” he mutters, then climbs over into the driver’s seat. “You ready to head home?” Liam looks at him closely for a second, and wills his heart not to sink. Something’s definitely different about Zayn – he won’t meet Liam’s eye, and he’s quiet, fiddling with the keys in the ignition and looking around for something to wipe the windscreen with.

Then again, Liam tells himself, it is early, especially for Zayn. He tries not to think back to yesterday morning, when Zayn had been so eager to get out of bed to go on a road trip with Liam. He’s just tired, Liam tells himself, as he shrugs out of his plaid shirt so they can use it to wipe the windows. 

“You want me to drive?” Liam asks. “You look pretty tired.” 

Finally, Zayn looks at him, his eyes a little glassy and still hooded from sleep. 

“Yeah, thanks,” he says, and hops out of the car. Liam’s throat is dry as he gets into the driver’s seat, trying not to look at Zayn across from him, winding down his window as Liam starts the engine, letting the air rush in and dry out the rest of the car. Almost as soon as Liam’s backed out onto the main road, Zayn’s asleep, his head resting on the balled up shirt they’d used to wipe the windscreen. And Liam looks, because he’s allowed, but even in his sleep Zayn is unreadable, impenetrable, a sentence written in a language Liam doesn’t think he’ll ever understand.

//

Zayn sleeps the entire way home, and Liam is left alone with his thoughts. Which, it turns out, is not such a good thing. He thinks about the way it had felt to kiss Zayn, how it seemed like everything just fell into place the moment their lips touched, like Liam was exactly where he was meant to be. But now, it feels completely wrong, because Zayn should be driving, not hunched up in the passenger seat with his hair being tousled by the wind while he sleeps. He should be singing goofily with Liam like they were on the way up, one hand on the steering wheel, giggling when he catches Liam’s eye. Liam feels guilty, more than anything else. He feels like he was selfish, like he should’ve been more cautious with Zayn, but he let his own feelings, his own desire, his own desperate need for Zayn to want him back, get in the way of just being a friend to Zayn. And now Liam feels like he’s fucked it up completely, because Zayn clearly doesn’t want to talk to him, or even look at him. And Liam knew this would happen, knew that if he let his feelings get the better of him, his friendship with Zayn would be ruined. But Zayn had kissed him first, and Liam had been waiting for that moment so long that he got swept away, like Zayn was a wave, pulling Liam under. 

When they get home, Liam gets out to carry Zayn inside like he had after Louis and Harry’s party. Zayn feels heavy in his arms, a dead weight, even though Liam knows he only weighs half of what Liam does. It’s like Liam’s carrying all his guilt, all his stupid selfish feelings and his heavy heart inside with Zayn, laying them all out on Zayn’s bed. Zayn doesn’t even stir; he sleeps like he’s dead, so Liam just turns off the light and silently leaves, wanting to get in the shower and not come out for a few hours. 

But then he hears Niall’s voice from his bedroom, deep and warm and reassuring, and suddenly he just wants to talk to someone, just to make sure he didn’t dream the whole thing up, that he’s not losing his mind. Liam knocks on his bedroom door, and moments later Niall opens it. Liam sees Leigh-Anne sitting on the bed, Niall’s laptop balanced on her knees.

“Oh, hey guys, sorry I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Liam says, going to back out of Niall’s doorway. 

“You’re home,” Niall says, and Liam can sense a question behind his casual tone. 

“Yeah, we just got back. Zayn was asleep the whole way. I can tell you about it later, though,” Liam says, glancing apologetically at Leigh-Anne. She uncrosses her legs and gets off the bed, picking up a denim jacket and sneakers off the floor. 

“It’s fine, Li, you and Niall catch up. He’s been dying for you to get back all day,” she says with a grin, then turns to Niall. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Niall says, and kisses her on the cheek before she slips past Liam out the door. And Liam wants that, he wants that easiness, that comfort, of knowing there’ll always be see you later, see you tomorrow, see you in the morning. Not the feeling that you might wake up the next day and not know your best friend.

“C’mon,” Niall says, beckoning Liam inside his room with a nod of his head. Liam follows, toeing off his shoes before he falls back on Niall’s bed, arms crossed behind his head. He likes Niall’s room – it’s always super neat, unlike Zayn’s, all his golf trophies lined up on the shelf, his magazines stacked on the desk, his shoes organised by brand on a rack in the cupboard. 

Part of Liam wants to tell Niall everything, just get it off his chest because it feels like he’s going to suffocate from the weight of it all. But another part of him just wants to pretend like nothing happened in Blackpool, because he knows that’s what Zayn’s going to do. 

“So. How was it?” Niall asks, sitting down on the end of his bed, next to Liam’s feet.

“It was…..fucking fantastic, and then it was fucking awful,” Liam says, not knowing how else to describe the complete confusion he’s feeling right now. Niall looks at him carefully.

“You guys….?”

“He kissed me. He kissed me, in the ocean, then I gave him a swimming lesson and it was completely fine, it was amazing, then we went back to his car and….and he initiated everything, like I didn’t know if it was just a kiss or if it was more, but it was more, but then when we woke up this morning he wouldn’t even look at me. I’ve completely fucked it up, Nialler.” 

Niall looks a little shellshocked after Liam’s outburst, but then he puts a solid, comforting hand on Liam’s shoulder and squeezes. 

“He probably just needs to get used to the idea of…you and him, y’know?” Niall says. “It’s different, going from being mates with someone to fucking them in your car, maybe Zayn just needs a day or so to get used to that.” Liam can’t help but smile at Niall’s typical, no-nonsense way of wording advice.

“Yeah. We’ll see, when he wakes up. I’ll try and talk to him.” Niall nods. “I might have a shower and head to Louis’s,” Liam sighs, hauling himself off the bed. On second thoughts, he bends down and plants a sloppy kiss on the top of Niall’s dyed blonde locks. “Thanks, Nialler,” he says, and Niall scowls at him in what Liam thinks is a fond way. Then his face breaks out in a grin.

“Been waiting for this for years,” Niall says. 

“Tell me about it,” Liam replies, but he knows it wasn’t this he was waiting for. It wasn’t feeling like he was going to lose Zayn, feeling like he was losing his best friend. He’d spent so long waiting, wishing he and Zayn were something else, something more, and now Liam’s terrified that he’s wasted that time not enjoying the simple fact of Zayn’s friendship. Because if Zayn isn’t talking to him now, doesn’t want to be his friend anymore, Liam has no idea what he’s going to do. He can’t imagine waking up in the morning and not having Zayn there in the next room to talk to, drink coffee with, watch movies with, fall asleep with and wake up to. 

//

Liam can actually hear Louis run to the door when he knocks. His sneakers squeak on the wooden floor as he skids to a halt and flings the door open.

“Finally,” Louis says, yanking Liam inside by the scruff of his shirt and slamming the door behind them. “You have to tell me everything.” Liam frowns slightly – all he’d said to Louis on the phone was that he was coming over. He didn’t even mention Zayn.

“Where’s Harry?” Liam asks, and Louis avoids his eyes, so okay, something is definitely going on. 

“He went out,” Louis says, shoving Liam onto the couch and sitting down next to him.

“He’s with Zayn isn’t he,” Liam says resignedly. Apparently this is his life now – he and Zayn have to talk to Louis and Harry separately about the same fucking problem because they can’t talk to each other.

“Zayn called him about half an hour ago,” Louis sighs. 

“What did he say?” Liam asks before he can help himself. Louis shrugs.

“I dunno, it was Harry he talked to. I was talking to you, remember? Because you called me and said you had something to tell me? So out with it.” Liam rolls his eyes.

“This is so fucking stupid,” he says, and then feels like he might cry. He looks at Louis desperately. “I’m so fucking stupid,” he says, and Louis pulls Liam’s head into his shoulder.

“Tell Uncle Louis what happened,” he says, stroking Liam’s hair. He has to smile slightly at that, and closes his eyes.

“We had sex. Zayn started it all – not to be petty, but he really did start it. He kissed me first, and he said we should drive somewhere so we could have sex, and he had condoms in the glovebox, like who has condoms in the glovebox? And then we went to sleep and this morning he woke up and wouldn’t even look at me, and now he’s at our place telling Harry that he made the worst mistake of his life.”

“Hold up,” Louis says, his fingers stalling on Liam’s scalp. “Could you – did you just -? Replay that.”

“Replay what?” 

“The sex. You and Zayn. The part where you and Zayn had sex.” Liam sits up, shoving Louis softly. 

“That’s not the point, Lou.”

“I mean, it kind of seems like the point to me,” Louis says.

“Well it’s not why I’m here,” Liam snaps. “I mean, it is, but – I’m here because I’m stupidly in love with my best friend, and it’s driving me fucking crazy because now he won’t even fucking look at me.”

“You’re talking to the wrong person about this,” Louis says, shaking his head. “And so is Zayn. You both need to talk to each other. I’m gonna call Harry right now and tell him to get his sweet little ass back here, and then you’re gonna go home and you’re gonna talk to Zayn. Like an adult. Like a friend.” Liam closes his eyes and leans his head back against the couch, wishing he could disappear into the ugly brown fabric.

“I don’t even know what to say.” 

“You’ll know,” Louis says. “Remember when you and Niall were trying to get me together with Harry, when we first met? And I thought I’d have nothing to say to him cos he was like, from another planet, where people paint with their own blood and listen to white fucking noise and whale sounds on their iPods.“ 

Liam shakes his head, Harry wasn’t that bad in college. “But then I actually talked to him and I just, like, knew what to say.” 

“What did you say?” Liam asks. Whatever it was, it worked. 

“Wanna bone?” Louis says, and Liam snorts, because of course that’s what he said. 

“Well, me and Zayn already tried that, and it didn’t turn out so great,” Liam says. 

“Seriously, Li. Just talk to him. Tell him how you feel, for real. What have you got to lose?” 

“My best friend, for one,” Liam says, and Louis frowns at him.

“You’re acting like Zayn is this evil guy who has no feelings and is gonna compeltey cut you out of his life because you had sex. He’s not like that, and you know that.”

“He’s sure acting like it,” Liam says, thinking of the way Zayn’s eyes had flitted away from Liam’s this morning, the way his fingers pulled at the frayed denim of his jeans.

“Just talk to him,” Louis says, almost pleadingly, and Liam sighs.

“Fine.”

//

But he never gets a chance. It’s just Niall in the living room when Liam gets home; he says Zayn went out, had some errands to run before work the next day. Liam just nods tiredly, going into his room and collapsing onto his bed. This is exactly what he’d been dreading whenever he thought about actually telling Zayn how he feels. And while he might not have said it in as many words, he knows Zayn’s not stupid, he’s obviously figured out how Liam feels, and it’s too much for him to deal with. The worst thing is that Liam has no idea how to fix this – he can’t change the way he feels about Zayn, as much as he’s tried to make it stop, to make it go away, to convince himself that Zayn is his best friend and nothing more, Liam doesn’t think he’ll ever stop feeling like the world stops whenever Zayn walks into the room. If he was going to get over Zayn, he thinks, it would’ve happened by now, he wouldn’t still feel like all the air’s being sucked out of his lungs when Zayn looks at him, like there’s nowhere else Liam belongs except next to Zayn, like Zayn’s the only person he’s ever belonged to. And now that person is walking away from Liam, and it’s his own fault. He wants to cry, but instead he slowly gets undressed, turns off the light and slides under the covers, staring at the ceiling. 

After an hour or so he hears Leigh-Anne come in, hears Niall turn the TV off and go into his room. He hears the traffic in the street below, slowly getting thinner and less frequent as the hours drag by. But he doesn’t sleep. Even if he closed his eyes, willed himself to drift off, he doesn’t think he could. It’s around 2am when he hears Zayn get home, his footsteps uneven and heavy. He hears Zayn pause outside Liam’s door, and just wants him to come in, he wants Zayn to just be lying here next to him like nothing’s happened more than anything he’s ever wanted in his life. He holds his breath, biting down on his lip until he can taste blood, and then he hears Zayn’s footsteps shuffle off, and the door to his room opens and then shuts again. Liam heaves out a sigh, wipes the blood off his lip with his thumb. He rolls over towards the wall and pulls the covers over his head, like he used to when he was a kid and he couldn’t sleep because one of his sisters was on the phone in her room next door. He doesn’t think about Zayn getting undressed in the next room, getting into bed, pulling the covers over himself. He doesn’t think about anything at all.

Liam doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he wakes up to his alarm the next morning and for a second he can’t breathe. Then he realises that the covers are still pulled over his head, and he shoves them off, feeling the cool air of the morning hit his cheeks. He ignores the empty space in the bed next to him and gets up, gets dressed on autopilot, and grabs his wallet and keys as he leaves his room. Niall is in the kitchen, feeding mouthfuls of cereal to Leigh-Anne across the breakfast bar. Liam forces a smile as he squeezes past Niall to put the jug on, and Niall eyes him warily.

“Morning,” Liam says, making his voice sound as normal as possible. He busies himself with making coffee, though he almost spills the whole bag all over the floor.

“Hey, Liam,” Niall says. “Um, Zayn told me to tell you – he can’t take you to work this morning. He –“

“It’s fine,” Liam says quickly. “I’ll get the bus.” He doesn’t want to hear Zayn’s excuse. He doesn’t think he could sit in the passenger seat of Zayn’s car anyway, without thinking about Zayn’s chest pressed flush with his, his hair falling in both of their faces, the smell of the ocean through the open window. Liam quickly pours his coffee into a takeaway cup and nods goodbye to Niall and Leigh-Anne as he rushes out the door. It’s not that he’s going to be late, it’s just that he just can’t stand to be in his flat anymore, knowing that Zayn, who usually isn’t up till five minutes before he has to leave, got up early just so he didn’t have to drive Liam to work. 

//

Things only get worse for Liam once he gets to work. Louis is being nice to him, which Liam can’t stand, because he’s never nice and it kind of terrifies him a bit. But he’s acting like a concerned mum, asking Liam if he needs another coffee, offering to shout him lunch, asking if he slept ok. His answer is yes to all three, even though the last one is a lie, but he can’t stand Louis asking him more questions. He wants to ask what Zayn said to Harry, what advice Harry gave him, but at the same time he doesn’t think he can face the answers, so he shuts up and stares at his computer screen, his mind filled with white noise and unanswered questions.

Louis gives him a ride home, and even though the radio’s playing Liam can feel the silence pressing in on both of them. When they pull up at Liam’s flat, Louis sighs loudly.

“So, it’s your birthday this weekend,” he says, and Liam was really hoping to avoid this. It’s not like he’s got anything to celebrate – he’s going to be 24, one step closer to 25, which is one step closer to 30. 

“And?” Liam says, even though he knows Louis’s just trying to be nice.

“We should do something,” Louis says hopefully. “We can have it at ours; you don’t have to organise anything. It’ll just be a few friends, a few beers. It’ll be good for you.” Liam shrugs.

“Ok. If you want to.” Louis looks way too pleased with Liam’s less-than-enthusiastic answer, and then Liam feels awful. Louis’s just trying to be a good friend, which sort of isn’t like him, so Liam pulls him into an awkward sideways hug from across the gear shift.

“Thanks, Lou,” he says, ruffling Louis’s hair with his free hand.

“Everything’s gonna be ok, Li,” Louis says, and Liam feels like there’s a stone stuck in his throat.

“Yeah. See you tomorrow.”

“I’ll pick you up,” Louis says, and Liam nods.

“Thanks.”

//

Louis doesn’t mention Liam’s birthday again for the whole week. Liam sees Zayn a total of three times – once, when he’s heading out for a run and Zayn is just getting home from work, and they squeeze past each other in the doorway. Another time, Liam gets out of the shower to find Zayn brushing his teeth, and when their eyes meet in the mirror Zayn immediately ducks his head, rinsing his mouth with water and walking out of the bathroom. And the third time, Liam goes into Niall’s room to talk to him, and finds Zayn lying on Niall’s bed, looking drained and pale, and Liam backs out of the room without saying a word.

At first Liam just misses Zayn, misses the way he’d come into Liam’s room at all hours of the night and day without knocking, the way he’d pick up Liam’s favourite cereal on the way home if he noticed they were out, even though Zayn hates Cheerios. He misses seeing Zayn in his clothes, he misses the way his sheets smelled when Zayn stayed over, he misses listening to Usher in the car every morning before work. He misses Zayn even though he’s in the next room, and it would be so easy for Liam to go in there and apologise and ask him to go back to being friends, because even pretending he wasn’t in love with his best friend was better than not having a best friend at all. 

Then Liam gets angry with himself, and he stays angry at himself for two days. He knew this would happen, and he did nothing to stop it. He still doesn’t know why Zayn kissed him, but he knows that if he’d done something to stop the rest of it happening, they wouldn’t be like this now, like two ghosts haunting the same house, making sure their paths never cross. Then he gets angry at his past self, 21 year old Liam who stupidly fell for his best friend, who couldn’t have just fallen in love with the pretty girl who sat next to him in Calculus who always asked to borrow a pen. 

Then, on Thursday, he gets mad at Zayn. He gets really, really mad, when he’s in the middle of an unusually long run. Because how is any of this Liam’s fault? He kept his feelings from Zayn for god knows how long (he still hasn’t pinpointed the exact moment he went from being friends with Zayn to being in love with him), and never made a move even when it was all he wanted to do, even when he had the chance. And then Zayn makes a move, tells Liam he wants to ride him until he can’t feel his legs, and Liam complies, then Zayn decides he doesn’t want to see Liam at all. Liam didn’t ask for this, didn’t ask for any of it, it was Zayn who told Liam he wanted this, and now he gets to just change his mind and take the only thing that matters to Liam away from him – his friendship.

He’s still angry when he, Niall and Leigh-Anne drive over to Louis and Harry’s on Saturday night; he’s so angry he just wants to get drunk and maybe black out. Louis looks like David Beckham’s showed up on his doorstep when Niall rings the doorbell, pulling Liam into a bear hug (even though he barely comes up to Liam’s shoulders) and pulling them all inside. Despite the fact that the last thing Liam wants is to be the centre of attention, Louis drags him into the living room, yelling “Birthday boy’s here!” at the top of his lungs, and everyone cheers. Liam waves awkwardly, scanning the room and seeing some of Harry’s friends – not Miles, thankfully – a few people from the office, some of the guys from their classes in college, and a couple of Leigh-Anne’s friends. There’s no sign of Zayn – and what had Liam expected? That just because it was his birthday Zayn would stop acting like a dick and show up? Apologise? Give Liam the one thing he actually wanted for his birthday? He should’ve known.

Then Louis’s shoving a beer in Liam’s hand, and people are hugging him and giving him presents, and Liam actually forgets about Zayn long enough to start enjoying himself. He makes sure to pull Louis aside and thank him, and he’s just buzzed enough not to notice that Louis avoids his eyes, or to see that Louis’s checking his phone every two minutes and watching the front door like a hawk. Niall sets up a beer pong match – he and Liam against Harry and Nick, who are completely hopeless, and then Nick goes back to doing what he’s actually good at – DJ’ing. Liam dances with Niall and Leigh-Anne, then he dances with Harry, who looks like he’s been taking pole-dancing classes or something, the way he moves like he’s hustling tips. Then he spins around and comes face to face with the last person he wants to see in the world, and the only person he’s wanted to see all night.

“What are you doing here?” Liam blurts out, because he’s had maybe a bit too much to drink. Zayn looks a bit offended, but then he bites his lip and looks at Liam hopefully.

“It’s my best friend’s birthday, of course I’m here.”

“Oh, is that what we are?” Liam says sarcastically. “Best friends? Because last time I checked, best friends don’t have sex in a car and then not talk to each other for a week.” Zayn looks around the room, notices people are starting to stare, then grabs Liam’s elbow and steers him outside, and Liam hates himself for it but he melts into Zayn’s touch. They used to touch all the time – arms round each other’s shoulders, legs on top of each other, Zayn’s fingers in Liam’s hair – but it feels like it’s been forever since Liam felt Zayn’s hands on his skin. He spins around to face Zayn once they get outside, trying to summon the anger he’s been feeling for the past few days, but all Liam feels when he looks at Zayn is out of breath. He feels completely sober, all of a sudden.

“Liam, I’m sorry. I – I was a complete asshole. A complete asshole. I just freaked out, ok? We’ve been friends for so long and nothing like that has ever happened with us before, it’s never happened to me with any of my other friends. I mean, it’s never been…. like that, for me, with anyone, ever.” Liam hates how much he knows exactly what Zayn means, how he’d thought, when they were in Zayn’s car, that it had never been like that for Liam with anyone else either.

“I just thought,” Zayn continues, “that things would change. Like, we wouldn’t be able to still be friends like we were before, that things would be awkward, but. Things are awkward, and I hate it. I hate knowing that you sleep on the other side of my bedroom wall and I can’t go in and talk to you when I can’t sleep. I hate not eating dinner with you. I hate not driving you to work.” 

“So…what are you saying?” Liam asks. He thinks he knows, but he needs to hear Zayn say it.

“Well, like I said, I didn’t think we’d be able to go back to the way things were. But, the thing is, I don’t think I want them to.” 

Liam’s heart sinks; he suddenly feels cold all over, and his ears are ringing. He’s never been through a friend-breakup, but he’s pretty sure this is what it sounds like. He tries to take Zayn in for as long as possible, squinting through the dim light of Louis and Harry’s miniscule backyard, drinking in Zayn’s golden skin, his soft, dark hair swept up off his forehead, the shadows pooling in his collarbones, his wiry, angular frame. Liam tries to take a mental photograph, thinking this could be the last time he gets to really, properly see Zayn.

“I want us to be more than friends,” Zayn says finally, and Liam frowns at him. He’d thought Zayn was saying he didn’t want anything between them, and now this?

“You –“

“I mean, I want what we had before, hanging out and watching movies and doing dumb shit like going to Ikea when it’s raining, but I also want – what we did last weekend. I want the sex, too.”

“You want to be friends with benefits?” Liam asks hesitantly. Maybe he can cope with that – he’ll still have to ignore his feelings, but at least he’ll get to keep Zayn’s friendship. And sex. Really, really good sex. 

Zayn sighs. “No, Liam. I want us to be together. Or whatever. Like Harry and Louis. Like Niall and Leigh-Anne. Except we won’t really be like them, we’ll just be….us. Zayn and Liam. Liam and Zayn.” 

Liam feels like his heart is about to beat out of his chest, like it’s a frantic bird trying to escape its cage, and it’s making it really hard for him to breathe. Zayn takes a step towards him and Liam can see the porch light glint off his eyes that look golden brown, like caramel, in the dark. 

“Please say something,” Zayn says, his voice quiet and small in the space between them. Liam’s mind is numb, and he thinks of all the thousands of things he’s wanted to say over the years that he never could. One thing stands out, though.

“I love you,” Liam blurts out, then grabs Zayn by the front of his tee shirt and pulls him in, kissing him open-mouthed. His other hand goes to the small of Zayn’s back, pressing him against Liam, and Zayn’s hands find the sides of Liam’s face. Liam kisses Zayn like he’s drowning, like Zayn is his lifeline, his air supply. Liam pulls back and stares at Zayn, strokes a finger over his cheek.

“I love you too,” Zayn says, his voice shaking a little. “I can’t believe it took me so long to realise, or even to do something about it.” Liam smiles softly, brushing the pad of his thumb over Zayn’s bottom lip.

“We both took too long to do something about it,” he says, and Zayn’s lips crook upwards at that. Then his eyes turn serious.

“Seriously Liam, if I could do it all again, go back and not waste all that time pretending I wasn’t in love with you, I would.”

Liam shakes his head. “I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t change anything.” Zayn gives him a confused look. “Even though I wanted more the whole time, even when all I could think about was kissing you, when I had to pretend to be sorry whenever you broke up with someone, even when I hated you, those were the best years of my life, because you were my best friend. I wouldn’t give that up for anything.” Zayn smiles, and leans his forehead against Liam’s. 

“How did I ever pretend I’m not in love with you,” Zayn says, and Liam puts both hands on Zayn’s shoulders, holding him at arms length. 

“Don’t,” he says seriously. “I don’t wanna hear you say you pretended you weren’t in love with me. I don’t wanna think about how long we’ve both been doing this.”

“About two years,” Liam hears a voice from behind Zayn, and peers through the darkness. Louis is standing in the doorway, arms crossed and looking like all his Christmases have come at once.

“How long have you been standing there?” Zayn asks angrily.

“Like, the longest time you can imagine,” Louis says, strolling over to them and throwing an arm around each of them. “Me, Harry and Niall had bets on how long it was gonna take you to figure it out. Unfortunately, I had faith in you and said six months.” Zayn looks ready to commit murder, so Liam rubs a hand over his shoulder blades.

“Let me guess. Harry was the closest,” Liam says with a grin. He doesn’t think he could be angry at anything right now – someone could tell him that he’d lost his job and everything in his flat had been stolen, and he wouldn’t even care. Zayn and Louis both shoot him death glares.

“Yeah, now I owe him fifty bucks,” Louis says.

“Fifty?” Zayn asks incredulously. “You guys put fifty bucks on our stupidity?” Louis snorts.

“When you put it like that, I guess it was maybe excessive.” Louis steers them towards the door to go back inside, then pauses before he opens it.

“I really am glad you guys got your shit together, though. Mainly because Harry’s been waking me up at 3am every night this week to ask if he thinks you guys will work it out, but I mean, for your sake too. For everyone involved.” Liam rubs the top of Louis’s head with his knuckles, making Louis squawk. 

“Listen to you, getting all romantic on us,” Liam says. Louis ducks out from under his arm and scowls at Liam as he opens the door.

“Just for that, I’m gonna do this,” he says, and before Liam can stop him, he steps into the living room and belts at the top of his lungs, “Liam and Zayn are in love!”

Liam and Zayn can only follow him into the room meekly, Zayn’s hand finding Liam’s in the space between them. Everyone stares at them, and the entire room is silent except for whatever David Guetta song is playing. Then Harry lets out a whoop, Niall cheers, and then everyone’s following suit, laughing and cheering, even the ones who barely know them. Liam glances over at Zayn, and he looks a bit shell-shocked, but happy. Basically the exact way that Liam’s feeling.

Harry runs over to them and pulls them both into a big hug, and Liam thinks he sees tears in his eyes when he pulls away.

“I’m so happy for you guys,” he says, beaming. “I was kinda worried you wouldn’t work it out but –“

“But we did, and now you’re $100 better off,” Zayn says, and Harry’s face falls.

“I’m sorry, you guys it was just –“ he mumbles, and then Zayn throws an arm around Harry, pulling him in.

“I’m just fucking with you. Thanks for putting up with my shit the last – well, two years, I guess.”

“One year and ten months, actually,” Harry says, and Liam snorts. To be fair, Louis’s probably had a worse time of it from Liam, but it’s nice to know he wasn’t the only one pining after his best friend. Niall comes up to them and pats Liam on the back, grinning at Zayn.

“Bout time lads,” he says. “Now I can go back to actually having two flatmates who acknowledge each other’s existence.” Liam and Zayn look at each other sheepishly.

“Sorry, Nialler,” Liam says, and Niall shrugs.

“Well, now we’ve got something to actually celebrate,” Niall says, raising his bottle to the group and dragging Harry off to dance.

“Guess my birthday wasn’t worth actually celebrating,” Liam says to Zayn, but he’s grinning. He sees hesitation flicker across Zayn’s face, then he leans in and presses a quick, chaste kiss to Liam’s lips. 

“Sorry,” he says. “Still getting used to the fact that I can do that, whenever I want to now.” Liam leans in and puts his lips against Zayn’s ear.

“You can do a lot more than kiss me if we leave everyone else to their celebrations,” Liam says, then pulls back like nothing happened. There’s a hint of colour in Zayn’s cheeks though, and Liam takes a moment to appreciate that he did that. He made Zayn blush. 

“You can’t leave your own birthday,” Zayn says, but he doesn’t exactly sound convincing.

“Why not? It’s my party I can leave if I want to,” Liam says, pulling a Miley face at Zayn. Zayn wrinkles his nose. “Sorry. But seriously, we can go. Just don’t tell Louis or he’ll start making sex jokes in front of the entire room.” Zayn grins at him, his eyes crinkling and his tongue pushed up against his teeth, Liam’s favourite smile in the entire world.

Zayn goes over to tell Harry they’re leaving, and he gives them a knowing nod and smile as they tiptoe out while Louis is preoccupied with demanding that Nick play Uptown Funk for the third time that night. They go out to Zayn’s car, and Liam thinks about the night he’d driven Zayn home and carried him inside.

“Remember Harry and Louis’s party, a few weeks ago, when you fell asleep and I drove you home?” Liam says, climbing into the passenger seat, thinking about the way that Zayn had looked with the streetlights flickering over his face. 

“Barely,” Zayn says with a smile as he starts the car.

“After I put you in bed, you woke up and said ‘You’re my best friend’,” Liam says. He doesn’t know why he’s telling Zayn this; maybe he wants to see if Zayn remembers. Judging by the smile on his face, he does.

“I know. I was going to say I love you, but I didn’t want you to think I just said it because I was drunk.” 

“Why didn’t you say it in the morning?” Liam asks. Zayn cocks an eyebrow at him.

“Why didn’t you?” Liam feels his cheeks heat up, and grins sheepishly.

“Touché. Maybe we should just agree that we were both idiots, and we both should’ve said something sooner.” Zayn nods, and puts his left hand on Liam’s thigh, warm and heavy.

“You’re right, though,” Zayn says, his eyes on the road.

“About what?”

“About the last few years being the best of our lives. I’m glad we were friends before we were anything else.” Liam wants to tell Zayn to pull the car over so he can kiss him, but kind of really wants to get home so he can do more than kiss Zayn, so he settles for linking his fingers through Zayn’s hand where it rests on his knee.

“Me too,” he says.

//

“When did you realise?” Liam asks. They’re lying at opposite ends of the couch, all the windows open in the flat and Food Channel on the TV. Zayn tickles his foot, and Liam pulls his knees into his chest. Zayn laughs, then scoots down to Liam’s end of the couch, lying down with his head on Liam’s chest.

“Realise what?”

“That you liked me as more than a friend,” Liam says. He thinks he’s remembered the moment it hit him, but he wants to hear Zayn’s first.

“It was sometime in November, our first year out of college. It was pissing down with rain, and you came round to give Harry a tee shirt that Louis had borrowed, because they were in a fight. Remember how they used to fight all the time back then?” Liam nods, and trails his fingers over Zayn’s ribs. 

“Anyway, you were soaking wet, wearing your college hoodie, and your hair was dripping into your eye, but you’d come round to give Harry his shirt anyway. And you asked me if I’d seen the latest Teen Wolf episode, but I hadn’t, so we watched it in my room even though you’d already seen it, and you borrowed my clothes and stayed over. And I just thought that I wanted that to be my life, you know? Just Teen Wolf and you in my clothes and listening to the rain on the roof while I fell asleep.” 

Liam feels like his stomach has turned to liquid, and he puts both arms around Zayn and squeezes him tight, kissing the top of his head. Liam sometimes can’t believe this is his life, that he’s the guy who found his soulmate, his literal, actual soulmate, who wants the same things he does, who feels the exact way he feels and makes Liam feel like he’s always just sitting in front of a warm open fire, a blanket round his shoulders and the stars overhead.

“What about you?” Zayn asks, lifting his head off Liam’s chest and looking up at him. “I told you my sappy story, now you tell me yours.” Liam grins; of course Zayn can’t stay romantic for more than five minutes.

“I still can’t remember exactly, but I think it was probably graduation,” Liam says. “When you walked up on that stage and everyone else was looking at you, and these girls next to me were whispering about you, I got, like, irrationally angry that everyone was staring at you. I was so proud of you, I felt like I’d helped you up there even though I did absolutely nothing to help you except maybe buy you snacks when you were writing an essay and you’d forget to eat. But I wanted to be the only one who got to look at you, you know? Then I was like, why am I jealous that people are looking at my best friend while he graduates? And I kind of realised then.” Zayn snorts, and looks up at Liam again.

“Jealousy looks good on you, babe,” he says, and Liam flicks his nose. 

“Shut up.”

“Oh my god, like that night I hooked up with Miles? Louis said you looked ready to commit murder,” Zayn laughs, his whole body shaking against Liam’s. Liam groans and throws his head back against the arm of the couch.

“Shut up,” he pleads. “I was the worst.” 

“No, I was the worst. Remember Danielle?” Danielle was their old receptionist at the office, who Liam had dated for a whole three weeks last year in one of his many attempts to get over Zayn, before she broke up with him. 

“Yeah…”

“I may have told her you don’t believe in marriage and you never wanted kids so that she’d break up with you,” Zayn says, his voice muffled by Liam’s shirt. Liam pushes him up by his shoulders and gapes at him.

“You what?” 

“Harry found out she had a Pinterest board of wedding ideas, like the dress, the cake, the bridesmaid colours, ok? I couldn’t let my best friend go out with a psycho who thought she was gonna get engaged after like a month, could I?” Liam stares at Zayn like he’s a psycho for a second, and then he bursts out laughing. 

“Oh my god,” Liam gasps. “You’re a complete stalker.” 

“Hey, I saved your ass,” Zayn says. He starts giggling too, and soon they’re both in fits, laughing so hard they almost fall off the couch. They’re laughing too hard to hear the front door open, until Niall drops his keys loudly on the bench and makes a disgusted sound.

“Get a room, would ya?”

“Aww Niall, I thought you were happy we could all be flatmates again?” Zayn coos from the couch. Niall just scowls at them.

“C’mon Nialler, get over here,” Liam says, holding out his arms even though there’s barely enough room on the couch for the two of them to lie down. Niall rolls his eyes and walks over to them, sitting down heavily on their legs.

“Ow!” Zayn squawks, but Niall just picks up the remote and switches the channel to golf. 

“Ugh, how do you even watch this?” Liam asks, and Niall shoots him a dirty look.

“At least it’s not a show about bloody divas who can’t cook,” Niall says, leaning back and putting his feet up on the coffee table. Liam can’t feel his legs. 

“Niall, get up for a sec, would you? Me and Liam have important business to attend to,” Zayn says. Niall stands up obligingly, and Zayn rolls off Liam then helps him to his feet.

“What business?” Liam asks. He doesn’t remember making plans with Zayn; it’s Sunday, usually they just spend it at home or maybe going out for ice cream. 

“Bedroom business,” Zayn says, slapping Liam’s ass and herding him towards Zayn’s room. Niall groans from the couch and turns the TV volume up a few decibels. Liam grins over his shoulder at Zayn, pulling him into his bedroom with a kiss and closing the door.

//

Liam’s humming (sort of) the tune from one of The Weeknd’s new songs the next morning in the shower when all of a sudden the door opens and Zayn walks in. It’s pretty normal for Zayn to come in and brush his teeth while Liam’s in the shower, but this morning Zayn starts getting undressed, hopping around on one leg while he gets his trackies off. He’s not the most coordinated person in the morning. Liam pretends not to be looking, washing the shampoo out of his hair and facing the wall. Then he hears the shower door open, and Zayn’s pressed up against his back, taking the conditioner bottle out of his hand and putting it back on the shelf. 

“Morning,” Liam says, and feels Zayn kiss down the back of his neck. He turns around, putting both arms around Zayn’s waist and kissing his nose. 

“Morning,” Zayn says, his voice low and his lips millimeters from Liam’s. Liam can feel Zayn’s cock press against his hip, and can feel himself getting hard as well. 

Liam swipes his tongue over his lips to lick the droplets off and sees Zayn’s pupils dilate a millimeter or so. He’s definitely hard now.

“Love you so much Li,” Zayn says, his hands stroking over Liam’s cheeks and coming to rest on the back of his neck.

“I love you too,” Liam breathes, slotting their mouths together and reaching down to wrap a hand around Zayn’s dick. A thought pops into his head that’s been nagging him for a while, and he breaks the kiss. “I want you to – do you think we could maybe…switch? Like, I know I usually….”

“You want me to top?” Zayn asks, his voice husky and low like it always is in the morning.

Liam closes his eyes and leans his forehead against Zayn’s. 

“Fuck, more than anything Zayn,” Liam says, his mind running through all the ways he’s imagined this. He usually likes being the dominant one, and he does with Zayn, too, but there’s something about the way Zayn looks at him like he’s a lion looking at its prey, something about the filthy things he says to Liam, that makes Liam want to break his habits. 

Zayn knots his fingers in the short hairs at the back of Liam’s neck to pull him in closer and Liam groans into his mouth, rutting up against Zayn. Their bodies slip against each other under the water, and Liam keeps a hand on Zayn’s cock, rubbing his thumb over the tip where Zayn’s leaking precome. 

Then, without warning, Zayn pushes Liam’s back up against the wall of the shower, bracing one arm on the wall beside his head and bringing his other hand up to Liam’s neck, spreading his fingers firmly, but not too tight. Liam curls his tongue into Zayn’s mouth as Zayn runs a hand down Liam’s chest, over his hips and between his legs. 

“You wanna be good for me, yeah?” Zayn says into Liam’s mouth, and Liam nods, though he can barely think with Zayn’s fingers dragging slowly up and down his thigh, never touching Liam where he’s desperate to be touched. “Then spread your legs,” Zayn breathes, and Liam obeys, because it drives him crazy when Zayn gets like this, bossy and demanding and sure of himself. Liam doesn’t want to admit it, but he’s actually nervous. He and Zayn have been sleeping together multiple times a day since Liam’s birthday, but Liam’s always been the one giving it; it’s the natural rhythm they fell into. But it’s been a long, long time since he’s been the one bottoming, and he’s scared that it won’t be good, for him or for Zayn. 

Zayn seems to notice that he’s tense, because he presses hot, wet kisses to Liam’s mouth, putting one hand on Liam’s shoulder while the other reaches down to cup his balls, slowly rubbing closer and closer to Liam’s hole. 

“You good?” he asks, and Liam opens his eyes. Zayn looks so incredible with his hair clinging to his forehead and droplets catching in his impossibly long eyelashes, his lips swollen from kissing Liam, and yeah, he’s good. Zayn’s fingers are – fuck, they’re right there, and he must see the need in Liam’s eyes, because he pushes the first finger in, kissing down his neck to distract Liam.

Liam’s clinging to him for dear life, breathing through the initial pain and then relaxing around Zayn as he whispers into Liam’s ear.

“Breathe with me Li, come on, you feel so good, so tight for me, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Liam croaks, rolling his hips down onto Zayn’s hand and stroking Zayn’s cock upwards with the other. “Feels so – fuck, Zayn, feels so good,” he chokes as Zayn crooks his finger up inside Liam. 

Zayn fee;s like liquid against him, crashing over Liam like a waterfall, rubbing him up against the cool wall of the shower and pulling Liam into his warmth from the other side. It’s infuriating, intoxicating, and Liam never wants it to stop. 

“Another – please, Zayn,” Liam begs, wanting to feel more, having lost that initial stretched feeling he’d had when Zayn had first started touching him. 

“You sure babe?” Zayn breathes into his ear, his voice low and fucked out. Liam can barely think; his cock is still full and untouched between them, desperately hard, and he needs to get a hand on himself but one’s wrapped around Zayn and the other’s anchored to Zayn’s shoulder, the only thing keeping him grounded.

“You want me to stretch you out so you can take my cock?” Zayn murmurs, louder now, in Liam’s ear, pushing his finger agonizingly slowly in and out of Liam. Fuck, Liam knows now why he wanted Zayn to top, because it looks so fucking good on him, and it drives Liam absolutely insane. He feels like he’s going to come from just one finger, but he really, really doesn’t want this to be over.

“Yes, please Zayn, please,” Liam whines, trying to rub himself against Zayn’s stomach for any kind of friction to ease the tension in the pit of his stomach. While Liam’s distracted, Zayn slips the next finger in, making Liam slam his head back against the shower wall until he sees black spots at the edge of his vision. 

He’s chanting Zayn’s name through gritted teeth, jerking him faster and faster until Zayn bites into the skin of Liam’s shoulder. 

“I’m ready, Z,” Liam pants, wanting nothing else but to feel Zayn inside him; he needs it, and he knows both of them need a release soon. Now, in fact.

“Hold on,” Zayn says with difficulty, “condom.” Then he’s gone, rummaging through the bathroom drawers – Liam had almost forgotten where they were – and then holding up a Durex in triumph. 

“Do you just keep condoms in every room you ever walk into?” Liam asks as Zayn gets back into the shower, remembering the glovebox. He soon forgets, though, with Zayn millimetres away from him, keeping eye contact with Liam as he reaches down and slides the condom on. Liam’s never thought of condoms as being particularly sexy, but right now he’s ready to retract that thought.

“You sure you wanna do this babe?” Zayn asked, his face serious. Liam has never been so sure of anything in his life.

“Yes, Zayn, it’s not like you’re taking my bloody virginity,” he says, pulling Zayn closer and kissing him. Zayn kisses him back, sweetly and quickly, before spinning him round so Liam’s chest is pressed against the wall. Zayn reaches around and grabs hold of Liam’s cock, stroking him slow and long.

“Zayn,” Liam pants, feeling for his cock between his legs. Zayn lets out a strangled cry as he grabbed it, his lips finding Liam’s hungrily as Liam turns his head towards him. 

“Oh my god, Liam,” Zayn groans as he guides Zayn inside him, feeling himself stretch, painfully at first, and then all the way around Zayn’s cock. Liam feels so full, so hot and he squeezes his eyes shut, trying to focus on Zayn’s fingers pulling on his dick. 

“Ok?” Zayn asks right in Liam’s ear as he bottoms out, and Liam can only nod, rocking his hips into Zayn’s hand and feeling his cock drag against Liam’s hole. It feels – fuck, it feels incredible, and Liam does it again. Zayn presses his lips to Liam’s neck, the hand that isn’t holding his cock going to his hip. 

“You wanna fuck yourself on my cock?” Zayn says, and Liam’s eyes nearly roll out of his head. He doesn’t think he ever wants to top again after this.

“No,” Liam manages to reply, even though he’s still thrusting into Zayn’s hand and back onto his cock, “want you to fuck me.”

“Then stop moving,” Zayn says, so quietly he practically mouths it against Liam’s earlobe, and Liam does as he’s told. He lets Zayn take complete control, keeping Liam pressed up against the wall and dragging his hand along Liam’s cock as he pushes in and out of him. Liam feels like he’s about to spontaneously combust, he’s full to bursting and it feels so incredible, he can’t imagine not having Zayn inside him again. He tries to cling to the wet shower tiles but his hands just keep slipping, and the heat is slowly building at the bottom of his spine. He listens to their breathing, the noise of Zayn’s skin on his, the little sounds Zayn makes every time he fucks into Liam, and listens to the sounds coming out of his own mouth, desperate little whines and pants that fill the room, and it’s all too much.

“Zayn,” Liam croaks, “m’gonna – “ he moans as he spills over Zayn’s fingers and onto the wall in front of him. Zayn fucks him through his orgasm, as Liam feels every nerve ending in his body press up against his skin, as he feels like he’s lifted off the ground and then slammed back down into it. He feels like he’s just run a marathon. 

“Shit, Liam,” Zayn croaks, pulling out of Liam a little hurriedly and ripping the condom off. Liam somehow gets the message through his post-orgasm haze, and turns around to kneel down, taking some of the hot water from the shower into his mouth before slipping it over Zayn’s cock. He closes his eyes and feels his way, sensing the way Zayn’s entire body responds to every miniscule flex of Liam’s tongue, every tilt of his head. Zayn’s still leaning on his arm against the wall above Liam, backing him against the wall on his knees, pushing further and further into Liam’s mouth until he thinks he’s going to choke, but he fucking loves it, loves seeing Zayn get rough with him. 

“Gonna come,“ Zayn gasps, before Liam’s mouth is filled with the taste of him, and he swallows deeply, kissing his way back up Zayn’s navel and chest until he reaches his mouth. 

“Fuck,” Zayn croaks, and Liam pushes the wet hair off Zayn’s forehead. He feels like his legs are about to give out. “You know exactly how to wreck me,” Zayn croaked, and Liam smiled against his mouth. 

“Pretty sure you’re the one who just wrecked me,” he says, and shuts off the water. “I’m never topping again.” Zayn pouts at him as he reaches for a towel and rubs his hair. 

“But you’re so good at it.” Liam smirks at him, wrapping a towel round his waist and rubbing the fogged up mirror so he can shave.

“We’ll take turns. Compromise is the key to a good relationship Zayn,” Liam says, plugging in his razor and rubbing cream onto his face. Zayn elbows him out of the way, grabbing his toothbrush.

“So, every Monday, Wednesday, Friday you top, and every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday I top?” Zayn asks, and Liam giggles, trying to cut himself with the razor.

“What about Sunday?” 

“Sunday is the day of the lord, Liam,” Zayn says, sounding mock-affronted, and Liam cackles, nicking his chin as he doubles over with laughter. 

“Are you two finished?” Niall yells through the door. “Some of us need to take a fucking leak!” 

“Sorry Niall,” Liam calls through his laughter, wiping the shaving cream off his jaw and inspecting the cut. “Be out in a sec!”

“Bloody animals,” he hears Niall mutter, and Zayn grin at Liam through his toothpaste-filled mouth. 

“We can alternate on Sundays,” Zayn says, and Liam leans in to kiss him, toothpaste and all. 

//


End file.
